She Who Turns Time
by CherriiMarina
Summary: What was supposed to be a quick trip through time changes Hermione and Minerva forever. Not your standard Time-Turner fic. Begins in 1998 and ends up spanning more than sixty years. MM/HG romantic. Femmeslash.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me. I am borrowing the idea for a controlled time-turner from Jackdawess. Thank you so much for the original idea. *bows*

I have no idea how long this will end up being. I have several chapters tentatively outlined, but there's a lot more to go after that, and I want to do justice to the plot and storyline to make it worth the time you all take to read it. It will be almost fully canon-compliant, up to the epilogue, but I'm ignoring that as far as Ron/Hermione goes. Almost meaning that I can't split up Gred and Forge, and most of the time I hate JKR for doing it. Instead, I've replaced his death with Percy's, who was there with Fred when it happened. Apologies to the Percy fans out there.

I'm having a bit of trouble coming up with an appropriate title, so if anyone has any suggestions, I'll gladly accept the help.

This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM=======================

_3 May 1998: The wee hours of the morning._

The battle was over. All the bodies had been collected and removed. The survivors had all gone home, exhausted beyond belief. Well, most of them had gone.

Hermione Granger wandered the empty grounds of the castle, having no home to which she could return. Molly had offered her space at The Burrow, but the family was in mourning over Percy, and she felt as though she would be intruding. Her parents' home had been sold when they left for Australia. She could probably have gone to Grimmauld Place, but Harry wouldn't be there, and if she was going to be alone, she certainly didn't want to do it there. Therefore, she was wandering the ruined grounds of Hogwarts, trying to find a clean and safe place to pitch her tent. She still had her little beaded bag and the tent Bill had loaned the Trio when they'd left Shell Cottage, and if she could just find the right spot, she'd set up camp for the night.

She was nearing Hagrid's hut, and saw a nearby plot of land that was mercifully clean, though its proximity to the Forbidden Forest put its safety a bit in question. _It's better than nothing_, she thought, shrugging. She pulled the little bag from her pocket and reached in for the tent. Throwing it into the air, she cast the charms to bring it back to full size and to secure it to the ground. Stepping closer to the open flap, she contemplated casting the wards she was used to casting during the last year, then opted against them.

She ducked into the opening to the tent, closed things up behind her, and set about putting the room to rights. It was just the one spacious room, with a large fireplace along the left wall. There was a kitchen area along the back wall to the right side, and a small bathroom to the left. There was a stack of small cots on the right side of the room, and a few pieces of well-worn furniture spaced out in the middle. It was spartan in nature, but clean. It would do.

She pulled one of the cots out and placed it in front of the fireplace, which she then lit to dispel the chill remaining in the late-night air of early May. While the heat started to diffuse through the room, Hermione transfigured the small cot, piece by piece, into a larger and more comfortable bed. She set the thin mattress to one side and elongated and strengthened the metal frame. Once the frame was the proper size, she replaced the mattress, casting charms to thicken and widen the mattress so that it fit the new frame.

Reaching back into her beaded bag, she pulled a thin quilt out and cast similar charms on it, making it thicker and more plush, stretching the size to fit the larger mattress. She was too tired to worry about sheets, she decided, and spread the quilt over the bed.

Going back to the bathroom, she relieved her bladder and took a quick but warm shower, cleansing herself of the grime of battle. Using a combination of a thin towel and a couple mild drying charms, she dried herself and her hair, pulling the latter back into a thick plait. Stepping back into the main room, she was hit with a wave of exhaustion, all her efforts catching up to her. She climbed into the bed, snuggled into the thick, warm quilt, and fell immediately into a deep sleep.

=======================HG/MM=======================

She woke up slowly, feeling better rested than she'd felt in several months. She was sprawled across the bed on her stomach, her wand resting underneath her right hand; even in sleep, she wouldn't let it get out of her reach. She picked up the wand and turned over onto her back, snuggling deeper into the covers while keeping her arms free. She twirled the wand in her fingers, studying it. She hadn't had much chance to think about the fact that she was still using Bellatrix's wand. This little piece of wood and sinew had done so much damage in the hands of the Dark Witch, and it had continually fought her, up until the moment Molly had killed Bellatrix. Ever since that moment, it had warmed to Hermione, and she felt a real affinity with it now. She thought back on Ollivander's words when he'd identified the wand for them. _Walnut and dragon heartstring, twelve and three-quarter inches, Unyielding._ It was much different from her first Vine wand, but she knew now that she could do great things with this wand. She could feel it.

Wondering what the implications were of her feeling an affinity with a wand that had been used for so much dark magic, she resolved to ask Ollivander whether or not it would be prudent to replace it with a new one when she saw him again.

Laying the wand beside her head, she tucked her arms underneath her head, crossing them to help support the weight of it since she'd forgotten to transfigure something into a decent pillow before passing out the night before. Her brain started slipping into another train of thought: Ron.

She had finally worked up the courage to kiss him last night, and it turned out much the way she'd suspected it would. It was a very nice kiss, but not necessarily the only kind of kiss she ever wanted to experience in her life. For one, there was this lingering notion of how it would be to kiss another girl; to see if girls' lips really were softer than boys'. Ever since her time at Shell Cottage, Hermione had been dying to know what it would be like to kiss Fleur. She'd felt several attractions to different people over the years, both male and female, but only had experience with Viktor and now with Ron. Ron's kiss was ever so much nicer than Viktor's, but Hermione still felt like something was missing in it, and she wondered if it was something to do with the gender of her kissing partner.

A gentle tap at the entrance to the tent disturbed her reverie. "Hello?" A woman's voice called out, the flap parting. "Is anyone in here?" Minerva McGonagall walked through the doorway. "Oh, Miss Granger, it's you. What are you doing in a tent by Hagrid's..." her voice trailed off, stammering over her words as she quickly turned around, realizing that Hermione wore nothing under the quilt.

Hermione flushed red and burrowed deeper under the quilt. "I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't have anywhere else to go last night, and by the time I found a safe place to pitch the tent and then got it ready, I didn't even think about digging sleep clothes out of my bag." She reached one hand out for the beaded bag and snatched it under the cover with her, sitting up and making sure the quilt came down over all sides of her body. "If you don't mind waiting just one minute, I'll be dressed." She started digging furiously through the bag for clothes.

"Ah, take your time. I'm the one who barged into your tent unannounced." Minerva stayed facing the door, not daring to look back, her face flushed as red as Hermione's had been.

There was an uneasy silence as Hermione found and donned a tee-shirt and a pair of sleeping shorts. She lowered the quilt, having made herself decent. "You can turn around now, Professor. I'm, ah, dressed." Hermione got out of the bed and stood to welcome her Professor.

Minerva turned around and noticed that Hermione was still blushing from head to toe, and could feel that she was blushing nearly as much. Brushing off the embarrassment of finding her student in such a state, she focused in on what Hermione had said. "You said you didn't have anywhere else to go last night? I find it hard to believe that nobody had a place for you, of all people."

Hermione was busy undoing the changes she'd made to the cot, her wand moving in brief, concise shapes, the spell-words being muttered under her breath. "Well, yes of course. Molly offered me a place at The Burrow, but I'm not family and didn't want to intrude on their grief. Harry _did_ go with them, and I didn't want to sleep at Grimmauld place alone. I had this tent and have been used to camping for the last year, so I just stayed here." She shrugged. "I didn't think I would be in the way here, and it felt … safe to be at Hogwarts, even in the aftermath of the battle." She paused for a moment, digging her fingers into the softness of the still-transfigured quilt. "I suppose it was very foolish of me, but I..." her fingers clenched harder at the quilt, and she was shaking with the effort to not cry, "after being gone for so long, it felt so good to be back here. Hogwarts has always felt more like home than anywhere else I've been. Even now, with the destruction and the stench of death all around, it's still a haven. I, I just couldn't imagine going anywhere else."

Minerva could see that Hermione was about to completely break down, and hurried to the younger witch, wrapping her arms around her, pressing Hermione's head against her shoulder. Hermione let go of the quilt and embraced Minerva with a fierce strength, grasping at the familiar green and black robes, and finally losing control of the tears that had been threatening to fall.

Long minutes passed, Minerva stroking Hermione's head while softly whispering words meant to comfort. There were lots of gentle shushes, mentions of getting it all out, some empty platitudes about how it would all be alright, and reminders to go ahead and cry. Finally, Hermione's tears began to slow, and she came back to herself. Her head was buried in Minerva's chest, tucked under the older witch's chin, the stream of comforting words still going as Minerva stroked her hair with one hand, the other holding tightly to Hermione's back around her shoulders. Her own arms were still clutching at the back of Minerva's robes, and she started to realize the position they were in. "Shh, let it all out, child, shhh." Minerva whispered, her hand making another pass over Hermione's head. Hermione could feel the warm breath on the top of her head, and her train of thought from earlier was put back on its rails.

Hermione had been dying to know how it would feel to kiss Fleur, to kiss any girl, and here she was wrapped in the arms of the witch for whom she had the most respect in the world. It was only natural to wonder what it would feel like to kiss Minerva. As quickly as the thought appeared in her mind, however, she shoved it aside, feeling her earlier flushing at being caught naked return with a vengeance.

She pulled her head back and released her grip on Minerva's robes, taking a step backward. "I'm sorry, Prof..."

"No apologies are necessary, Miss Granger." Minerva took her own step back, straightening her robes. "I suspect the aftermath of the war will cause many tears yet, and some of them likely from my own eyes. I'm only happy I could be here for you." A wistful look crossed Minerva's face as she whispered. "Nobody should ever have to cry alone." She lightly shook her head, and the stoic persona of Professor McGonagall reappeared.

Taking the initiative, Minerva banished the cot back with the others, and magically folded the quilt, sending it to lay on top of the stack of cots. She briefly inspected the chairs and found that none of them would be acceptable. Conjuring a plush, but straight-backed chair for herself, she placed it in front of the still nicely-burning fire and settled into it.

Hermione was still standing there, looking dumb-founded, but upon seeing Minerva settle into her chair, she pulled one of the existing chairs in front of the fire, facing Minerva, and settled herself into it.

"Now, I believe we were discussing your reasons for camping on Hogwarts grounds. I can understand wanting to give the Weasley family space, but I also know Molly well enough to know that if she extended the invitation, then she considers you family and is probably feeling guilty that you weren't there for breakfast this morning." Her lips twitched in humor. "You know it's her greatest goal in life to feed the masses whenever she can, and not even her own grief will be able to keep her from the kitchen."

Hermione was surprised at the mild joke, but smiled broadly at the accurate representation of her friends' mother. "She does like to cook, doesn't she?"

"Aye. However, since it is now currently past ten and you are not there, are you hungry?" Hermione nodded, her stomach making a loud grumble at the mention of food, causing her blush again. Minerva's lips twitched again, trying not to laugh at Hermione's predicament. "Well, we can't have that. Sunny!"

An old, pale House-Elf appeared, dressed in a standard tea-towel, but one which was clean and in good condition. "How can Sunny help you, Professor?"

"Good morning, Sunny. If it's not too much trouble, could we get a spot of breakfast for Miss Granger here? And tea for two, please."

"Of course, Professor. What would Missy Granger like for her breakfast? We still has lots of supplies, and the kitchens wasn't damaged too much." The elderly Elf was eying Hermione suspiciously, remembering her S.P.E.W. efforts. "Only..." she swallowed hard "...we doesn't want to receive clothes for helping the Missy. We likes to cook and clean, and we is happy to serve at Hogwarts. We is very proud to be Hogwarts Elves."

Hermione sighed, knowing she was fighting a losing battle for House-Elf rights. They just didn't want them. "Thank you, Sunny. I can respect that, and I promise no clothes." The Elf beamed at her. "Could I just get some scrambled eggs and bacon? And maybe some toast and jam?"

"Yes, Missy! What kind of jam does you want?" Sunny was excited to have someone to serve with the castle being empty, and it was showing.

"Strawberry will be perfect, thanks." Hermione still felt guilty for using House-Elves to do what she could do for herself, but the fact was that she had no food supplies in the tent, and they always did such a lovely job.

"Sunny will be right back, Professor, Missy Granger." She disappeared with a quiet pop.

Minerva glanced around the room and saw a small table set close to the kitchen area. A snap of the wand and a couple muttered words later saw it sat between the two chairs in front of the fire, cleaned, and set to an appropriate height for the tea and breakfast that was coming. A moment later, Sunny reappeared with the tea and breakfast, deposited it on the newly-placed table, and popped back out.

There was a pleasant silence between them as all this was going on, neither woman feeling the need to talk just for the sake of talking, and both knowing the conversation to come could wait until breakfast was completed.

Hermione picked up her plate, along with a clean napkin and fork, and settled back into her chair, resting the plate on the arm of the chair, and tucking in. Minerva poured tea into both cups and fixed her own, adding milk but no sugar, and without thinking, fixed Hermione's as well. She picked up the cup to hand it over and realized what she'd done.

"Oh dear. I seem to have fixed your tea the way my friend used to take hers. One sugar, no milk. How very strange." _How perplexing_, she thought. _I haven't fixed tea for Morgan in years._ She felt a twinge in her heart.

"Oh, that's fine. That's how I take my tea. What a happy coincidence!" Hermione reached out and took the cup from Minerva's hand, sinking back into her chair and watching as Minerva did the same. She took a sip, and the tea was absolutely perfect; just the way she liked it.

A few moments later, Hermione was putting her empty plate back on the tray and fixing her second cup of tea. Minerva had finished her cup and replaced it on the tray.

"Well, now that's sorted, let's get down to business. As I said, I understand not wanting to intrude on the Weasleys right now, but have you truly nowhere else to go? It just seems a bit odd to me. I would have thought you had many places to spend a night after what happened here." Minerva was worried about the young woman.

Hermione fidgeted with a loose string on her shorts, keeping her eyes down and purposefully evading Minerva's gaze. "I know Harry would have let me stay at Grimmauld Place, and Kreacher's actually quite nice now, but I didn't want to be alone there. And my parents' house," she paused to swallow past the lump in her throat, "was sold when they moved out of the country last year. And while I don't doubt that any of my friends would have given me a bed last night, I would have felt just as intrusive anywhere else as I would have with the Weasleys. I don't know... I found myself just wandering around after everyone left, and this seemed as good a place to stay as anywhere. Like I said earlier, Hogwarts is my home, or it has been. I felt safe here, and I haven't felt truly safe in a long time." Her hands rose and rubbed her face, willing the tears to stay where they belonged. She didn't want to cry on Minerva again; she'd had enough of crying.

"I hadn't realized your parents left the country, my dear. And the rest, about safety and not belonging... I understand all too well." A grim look settled on Minerva's face. "This is the third war I've survived. It's never quite as happy and easy as you'd think. Yes, Voldemort's dead, but it is by no means over. There are still Death Eaters out there, both those marked and those who weren't given that honor. Don't think that any one of them wouldn't like to get their hands on a Muggle-born or a Blood Traitor, especially one as well-known as you, Miss Granger. I know Hogwarts feels like home and safety, but until the repairs are complete and the wards reinstated, it's simply not a safe place to be, especially alone at night. For that reason, I apologize, but I must insist that you find somewhere else to stay. The Burrow would be the safest choice, but if you truly feel that uncomfortable there right now, then we will figure something else out for you."

Hermione looked crestfallen at the news that she would have to leave the castle, but she soon schooled her features to the look of determination that Minerva was used to seeing. "I'll talk to Harry, then. I'll stay with him long enough to find a place of my own. I don't want to intrude on anyone in this time, especially if my presence would bring them further danger from lingering Death Eaters. If we work together, we can repair all the wards at Grimmauld Place and possibly turn it into a livable house again." It was a good plan, she thought, and it would work. There was a bit of fire back in her eyes as she started mentally making plans to finally truly improve the old house.

"Excellent news. I know Mr. Potter will appreciate your help in setting the place to rights." Minerva was happy to see Hermione mentally making plans. It was heartening to see a bit of the old Miss Granger.

The two women sat and passed pleasurable conversation for a couple more hours, before Minerva stood and made her excuses. There was much work to do, organizing the repairs on Hogwarts and the clean-up of the grounds. There was the big question of how long it would take and whether or not the school would be reopened as scheduled in September.

As Minerva was about to leave through the tent flap, Hermione made a split-second decision and ran across the room and enfolded her Professor into a tight, unexpected hug from one side. It threw Minerva's balance off, and was the hug not quite as tight as it was, she might have fallen. As it was, Hermione's grip was enough to keep her on her feet, and after a few seconds, she reached up to gently pat Hermione's linked hands where they rested on her right shoulder.

"Thank you, Professor. For the food and the conversation and the advice, and for always being there. Thank you." Hermione pulled back from the hug and wiped the single tear that had fallen from her cheek. "Thank you," she whispered.

Minerva's heart was filled with emotion at this outburst. "Any time, Miss Granger. And thank _you_, just for being you. Good-bye, and good luck. I know you'll accomplish everything in this world you want." She turned and left the tent, feeling her solitude sharply and wishing for someone she hadn't seen in nearly ten years. _Oh, Morgan. Where are you?_

=======================HG/MM=======================

Hermione quickly gathered up her things and set out for The Burrow. She needed to talk to Harry, and she knew that's where he'd be. It was awkward. Everyone was there, and the loss of Percy was keenly felt by all. She got Harry outside alone, and explained what she needed. He readily agreed to her plans, feeling as she did that he was intruding on the Weasleys' time of mourning.

Over the next two months, the two of them and Ginny worked together with Kreacher and completely changed the home that formerly housed the Ancient and Noble House of Black. First off, they repaired and replaced the wards protecting the house. The rest of the rogue Death Eaters were being brought in, but with it being Harry's home, and since he was currently housing Hermione as well, the security was warranted.

In a brilliant move, Hermione magically built a standalone section of plain wall and used a Switching Spell to replace the section of wall where Walburga's portrait was hung. The new wall was put in place of the old section, and the old wall, including the portrait, was made free-standing and able to be destroyed. Working with Kreacher, she used a similar charm to finally remove the Elf-heads, and gave them an honorable burial. They spent the rest of the summer cleaning and replacing everything they could, and by the time they finished, nobody would have ever suspected that the newly christened "Corrigeons Manoir" was ever the house used by the Order during the war.

Hermione would smirk when people asked about the name. "Corrigeons Manoir" simply meant "we put this house right" or "we corrected this house"; "we fixed it". In deference to the house's historical significance, they went with the word for manor or hall rather than the generic "maison" for house. Of course, it was all still quite a mouthful, and it soon became normal to hear people referring to it as "the CM."

One day in early August, Hermione was taking a break out back, enjoying a bit of sun while she read up on Magical careers, beginning to explore her options now that the house was finished. An owl dropped a letter on her lap and flew away before she could offer it a drink of water or an owl-treat.

Picking it up, she saw her own name in Emerald Green ink, and on the opposite side, the thick wax seal held the imprint of the Hogwarts coat of arms. _Curious_, she thought, and broke the seal. Inside the envelope was a letter offering her a place as a student for a remedial year to take the place of the horrible one endured under the leadership of Snape and the Carrows. Enclosed was a list of standard seventh-year supplies, and there was a short note added behind the supply list.

_Miss Granger,_

_I wanted to personally extend my invitation for you to return, especially following the conversation we had pertaining to your living situation. I don't expect that everyone will return to school for this chance at properly completing their education, but I believe that if anyone does return, it will be you. _

_Unfortunately, as you skipped your official seventh year, and this is a special opportunity, I cannot offer you the position of Head Girl, but if you wish to return, I can offer to keep you on as a Prefect. We may be able to offer you the rooms set aside for the Gryffindor Head Girl, as the Head Girl for this year is not in our house. It would afford you a certain additional measure of privacy to which you may have become accustomed since your last stay as a student here at the Castle._

_Please let me know within two weeks if you will be accepting this offer or not, so we can make our plans accordingly. _

_I wish you all the best either way._

_Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress, _

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Of course she would go back! It was the perfect solution to her problems. She could complete her education, gain her NEWTs, and use the next year to fully explore her future career options, all without having to further impose on Harry's hospitality.

She went up to her room and sat down to pen a short reply.

_Headmistress McGonagall,_

_I would like to begin by congratulating you on the appointment as Headmistress. I'm sure it's what Professor Dumbledore would have wanted, and you deserve it._

_I would also like to accept your offer to come back and complete my education, and to live in the Head Girl's rooms. Thank you for your generosity in offering them. _

_I understand why you can't offer me the Head Girl position. In taking it, I would have been depriving another year's students of their opportunity to earn it, and I wouldn't have been able to do that._

_If necessary, I will take the Prefect position, but unless you truly need me in the position to help train the younger Prefects, I would respectfully decline the responsibility. With Voldemort gone, I would like the opportunity to fully concentrate on my education this year, and I feel that the Prefect duties could interfere with that goal. _

_Thank you so much, and I will see you on 1st September. _

_Hermione Granger_

She folded and sealed the letter, sticking it down into the pocket on her robes. She needed to pick up a few things in Diagon Alley, and would need some of the items from the supplies list as well, so she might as well use the Owl service there to deliver her letter to McGonagall.

She grabbed her beaded purse, which already contained most of her money, and would nicely hold all the supplies she picked up while she was out.

Heading back out to the back garden, she disapparated with a crack.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Diagon Alley was crowded, but it wasn't as bad as she anticipated it would be in a couple of weeks when all the students and parents started popping in for their own school supplies. She popped into Flourish and Blotts first, picking up the textbooks she didn't already own, and selecting a few extra books as well for personal reading. Then over into Slug and Jiggers for the potions ingredients listed. Scribbulus had her quill and ink order ready, and she added a large order of parchment that she hadn't known she would need before getting McGonagall's letter. She went ahead into the Owl Post shop and mailed her letter off to Hogwarts.

She debated for a moment whether or not she would need new robes, and decided that a new set wouldn't hurt, so on to Madam Malkin's she went. An hour later, she'd been fitted for two new sets of student robes, and had picked up a set of dress robes in a shade of palest pink with accents in charcoal grey. They looked very grown-up, but still youthful enough that at nearly nineteen, they would make her look her age; she wanted to be taken seriously, neither treated like a twelve-year-old first-year, nor like someone in their thirties or forties.

Remembering that she'd wanted to talk to Ollivander about her wand ever since the morning after the Battle of Hogwarts, she made her way back up to his shop and entered the cool dark room.

"Mr. Ollivander?" she questioned into the darkness. Only a moment passed before he popped his head around the corner of a shelf.

"Yes?" He saw who was standing in his shop, and smiled brightly at her. "Oh, Miss Granger. I thought I might be hearing from you before long. Wanting a new wand, are we?" He stepped up to the counter, still smiling.

"I'm not sure, sir. I know where this wand came from, and I know what it's done in the past, but ever since Bellatrix died, it's been easier and easier to use, and now it almost feels better than the wand you originally sold me. Is that odd? Is it a bad thing? To be able to use such a Dark wand so easily?" She set the wand down on the counter between them, her worries written all over her face.

"No, Miss Granger, of course not. I always say the wand chooses the witch or wizard. Walnut is a notoriously useful wand wood, and it is drawn to those who are highly intelligent. It is very versatile and adaptable, and will do you quite well once you've mastered it, which from what you said, you have done. If the wand is truly yours now, it will do any spell you ask it to, with no questions. It strives to learn, and loves to help in the creation of new magical items and spells. Your first wand had a very different wood, but the core is the same. Dragon heartstring yields the most power of the three cores I use, and they learn very quickly. Something I think it shares with you, which is why both of your wands have had this core material.

"The nature of the wand, Unyielding, can be associated with an inability to change at all, but in terms of matching the wand with yourself, I would say it has more to do with the fact that you have very strong principles and are unwilling to change your stance on these principles, no matter who or what might attack you for it. This has both negative and positive connotations, but I do feel that this wand is uniquely suited to you, and if you are finding it easier to use, then you have truly won its loyalty. The wand was never Dark; it only did Dark things because its previous owner wished them. I will sell you another wand, certainly, if that's what you wish, but it's not necessary."

Hermione stood there, soaking in the information as Ollivander presented it, seeing how it all applied to her and to the wand, and could see all that she could potentially do with this wand if she'd won its loyalty.

"I do wish to purchase another wand, sir, but only as a backup in case anything were ever to happen to this one. Having already lost one in the war, I don't care to take a chance on being wandless again, or on being left with a captured wand that didn't want me to use it."

Ollivander's eyes brightened up. She had answered just as he'd hoped she would. "A wise decision. The Ministry says that I am not, however, allowed to sell you a second wand. I think that if I were to give it to you, rather than selling it to you, then we shall get around that rule quite nicely." There was a twinkle in his eye that was reminiscent of Dumbledore, and it unbalanced Hermione for a moment.

"Sir, I can't take a wand and not pay for it. That's," she was interrupted.

"Quite alright. If you hadn't shown up at Malfoy Manor with Misters Potter and Weasley when you did, I wouldn't be here. You took the brunt of the damage from that visit, and it would greatly honor me if you would allow me to gift you with a spare wand. Please, Miss Granger." The twinkle had disappeared from his eye and was replaced with a sad mistiness.

"I... thank you, Mr. Ollivander. It's a wonderful gift and I am very grateful."

He nodded curtly and disappeared behind a shelf to grab a few boxes. When he came back around the corner, the mist was gone from his eyes, and his face reflected the same odd curiosity it always had. "Now, Miss Granger, if you'll put this wand away, I have a few choices that I think might suit you."

She put the Walnut wand into its loops inside the beaded bag, held close to the top where she could easily access it, then looked at the boxes Ollivander had placed on the counter. "First up, Black Walnut with Unicorn Hair, twelve inches, reasonably supple." She reached for the wand, but before she could even touch it, there was an air of _wrong_ between the wand and her hand. "Ah, I don't think that one will do, sir." He replaced the lid on its box and set it to one side. "That's a strong reaction if you felt it before you even touched it. No matter, there are more to try out. Next is Hawthorn with Phoenix Feather, eleven inches, rigid." She picked up the wand and gave it a swish, causing red sparks to fly from its tip. She set it back in its box. "Yes, that's another no. Let's try this one. Larch with Dragon Heartstring, nine inches, supple." When her fingers touched the Larch wand, she felt a flood of warmth, but when she swished it around, the warmth retracted to an icy cold, turning the tips of her fingers blue. She dropped it back into its box and muttered a mild heating charm to bring her fingers back to normal temperature. "Again, I think that's a no."

"It was strange, sir, it was very warm at first and I thought this might be the one, but then it was just like plunging my hand into solid ice." She shook her hand for a moment, making sure it was warm.

"Curious. Very curious." He looked at the other boxes he had brought out, and immediately dismissed them all. He ducked underneath the counter and dug around for a moment before bringing up a single box. It was covered in dust, which he blew into the air, making Hermione cough. "Let's try this one. It's one of the last made by my father, but I just have a feeling about it. Apple with Dragon Heartstring, ten inches, slightly yielding."

There was a feeling of anticipation on the air, and as she reached for the Apple wand, a blue spark connected the wand and her hand. As she grabbed it, there was a crack and the smell of ozone surrounded them. A rush of warmth flooded her entire body, and then it settled to her normal temperature. She gave it a gentle swish, whispering _Wingardium Leviosa_ at a potted plant in the corner, and flicked as the pot gently rose into the air and hovered until she allowed it to slowly lower back to the floor.

"I believe we have found it, Miss Granger. My father used to speak of who would end up getting this wand, and although it didn't make sense at the time, he did say it would never be bought. Congratulations, Miss Granger. You have your new wand."

Hermione was staring at the wand. It was nearly three inches shorter than Bellatrix's Walnut wand, but it had a wonderful feel to it, as though she truly were destined to own it. She could almost hear it whispering to her mind, and it was saying _"mine."_

"I... thank you, sir. It is an exceedingly generous gift, especially given that your father made it." She gulped in a breath of air. "Thank you."

"Think nothing of it, Miss Granger. Absolutely nothing. Only, be sure to use the Walnut one when in public. We can't have the Ministry thinking I've sold you a second wand, can we?" The twinkle was back in his eye.

"No. No, of course not, sir." She opened the little bag and swapped the wands out, leaving the Apple in the loops and putting the Walnut wand back into her hand.

"My father left a message for whoever ended up with that wand. He said to be careful, and to never mismanage your time. Don't ask me what it means, because I don't know. I only know he wanted the message passed on, and I've finally been able to do that."

Hermione didn't understand the message or why it was attached to this wand, but filed it away in the back of her mind for later analysis.

"Thank you again, sir, for all your help. I should be getting home now. Take care of yourself." She smiled at him and turned toward the door.

"You take care of _your_self, Miss Granger. Good day."

Before she could turn back around to smile at him, he was gone. _What a strange and curious man,_ she thought, leaving the store. She stood outside the store for a few moments, putting her brain back in order before turning to disapparate home with a quiet crack.

=======================HG/MM=======================

I hope you enjoy the beginning of this. Reviews are always welcome, and yes, there is more Minerva coming. This will be a bit of a slow burn, and probably not much smutty content, although I'll concede a scene or two are in the plans. I don't write it well, but there are a couple plot points that will work better in that context.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.

Please remember that this is in no way a Ron/Hermione story. It is eventual Hermione/Minerva, but she needs some time to get there. I did mention slow burn, yes? There will be mentions of other ships, even for Hermione. She's young and needs to explore her options, which are many.

I know I'm concentrating a lot on Hermione right now, but that's all in the build-up. There will be sections of the story from Minerva's point of view as well, but for now, it's mostly with Hermione.

This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM=======================

The next two weeks were a rush for Hermione, and her mind was permeated with one recurring thought, "Hogwarts!"

Harry had decided not to return. When asked why, he replied quietly and thoughtfully that for an accident, he'd been famous his entire school career. Now that he was not only the Boy Who Lived, but also the Boy Who Came Back and Conquered, he felt like everyone would be paying too much attention to him; expecting too much from him. He'd already been offered a position in the Auror's office, and his training began midway through September. At least in the DMLE, he was only as good as his performance. Kingsley and the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement wouldn't give him any special treatment for being famous.

Ginny was going for her actual seventh year, and was excited at the prospect of finally being in classes with Hermione. The two girls had gotten much closer over the summer while fixing up the CM, and Ginny was only sad that they wouldn't be sharing a dormitory. She was a little jealous of Hermione getting the Head Girl's rooms, but had wrangled an agreement out of Hermione that if she ever needed a break from the Common Room, she could come study there instead.

Ron, of course, had no plans to go back. He had never been a great student, and was debating between a reserve position with the Cannons, which he thought would be wicked fun, and a position in Auror training with Harry. He was definitely leaning towards Quidditch, but had a few more weeks before he absolutely had to make up his mind.

He spent a lot of his free time thinking about Hermione. Ever since their kiss in the midst of battle, he'd wanted more. It's as though some monster had awakened inside his heart and he was so certain that they were deeply in love. They had shared a few more kisses, and had a couple mild snogging sessions, but he always felt like Hermione wasn't as invested in their time spent together as he was. He knew she was busy, first with the renovations, and now with her plans to go back to school, but he was finding fewer and fewer opportunities to show her the depth of his love for her. He wanted more than she was giving, and thought it was more than a little unfair how her attentions were always being diverted away from him.

Hermione was picking up on his frustrations. The kisses _were_ nice, but she found that more and more, his kisses weren't living up to her expectations of what a kiss could, and possibly should be. She was haunted by the recurring desire to see what it was like to kiss a woman, and it was sending her into a terrible state.

Finally, the night before she was to leave for Hogwarts, she pulled him aside for a private conversation. She outlined that while she was away at school, they should consider themselves free agents, so that if anything came up, neither would have to feel as though they were cheating if they chose to pursue it. "I love you, Ron, I do, but between my education and your job training, this will be nine months apart, and who knows what can happen in nine months? It's not that I anticipate finding someone else, especially while sequestered away at Hogwarts, but I'd like to know that if something did happen, we would be free to do as we want."

"But 'Mione, I don't want to be with anyone else. I want you." His throat felt like it was closing up, and he swallowed past the lump. "If it's what you really want, then be free with my blessing, but I will never love someone else the way that I love you. I'll be here waiting when you finish school, and then we can begin our life together." He didn't want to say it, but knew that if he didn't, he'd lose her for good.

"Thank you, Ron, for being an adult about this. We can still write to each other, and I'm sure I'll see you on breaks. I just feel like this is the best thing for now." She placed a gentle kiss to his cheek and stood up. "I have to get some sleep now. Early start for the train in the morning." She trailed the back of her index finger softly across his cheek, seeing the pain he was in over their words. "Good night."

She headed upstairs, aware that he was softly sobbing, but knowing that it was necessary. A few hot tears streamed down her own face as she walked. She entered the room she had appropriated, not wanting to share with Ginny when there were plenty to go around. She pulled the clothes from her body and stepped into the shower, her tears mingling with the hot water until only the cleansing spray was left. She was cried out, but still felt a need for something she didn't understand. Turning off the taps, she reached for a thick towel and began to dry off. Her nerve endings felt raw and exposed, and as the soft towel brushed over her skin, she was on fire. Her body dry, she reached for her wand and cast a mild drying charm on her hair. It didn't get her hair totally dry, but left it only barely damp so she could easily tie it back in a thick plait, which would make it more manageable the next morning.

Back in her bedroom, she donned an old, grey tee-shirt that was very soft, and a pair of short sleeping shorts in the same color, and slipped between her cool sheets. She was still feeling as though she were burning inside her skin, and the sheets felt glorious. She tried to go to sleep, but every brush of her pajamas or the sheets against her skin stoked the fire higher, making her crave … she didn't know what, but gods she wanted it.

And so when Ron stepped into the room and whispered her name, she moaned "yes." He quickly divested himself of his clothes and climbed into the bed with her, his face still wet with his tears, but needing to feel this connection with her. Gentle touches fanned the flamed higher, and she whispered _Divesto_, sending her soft shirt and shorts to the floor in a bundle. Another murmured word protected her from accidental pregnancy – it didn't pay to be careless in this area with a Weasley. A quick, sharp pain made her hiss quietly, but the pain was soon replaced by more of the delicious heat that had been enveloping her all night, and the friction made her moan, low and slow. The two of them moved together, and she soon cried out, and he grunted with his own completion a moment later.

Withdrawing, he settled into the bed, pulling her back against his chest, spooning them together and drawing the covers over them. Exhausted, she cast a quick cleaning spell on both of them and the sheets before succumbing to a deep, restful sleep in his arms.

=======================HG/MM=======================

The next morning, she was up and gone before he woke. She knew he would be upset about it when he did wake up, but their actions changed nothing about how she felt and what she wanted. It had been nice; more than nice, it had been really good, but she wanted more. She still had these attractions to both men and women, and she wanted to explore that before she settled down with one person for the rest of her life. She was only eighteen, for Merlin's sake, and had plenty of time to get to that.

As the Hogwarts Express chugged North, she was settled into a compartment by herself. She was slouched into the rear-facing window seat, watching as the scenery whizzed by. She was quietly thinking, but enjoying the trip she thought she would never get to make again. She found herself wondering how many from her class would be coming back. Many of them had attended the previous year and had been able to sit for their NEWTs at the Ministry while Hogwarts was being repaired. She suspected she was the only female Gryffindor returning since they had offered her the Head Girl's quarters.

The compartment door opened and Neville ducked through, closing it behind him. "Neville!" she exclaimed, jumping up to give him a hug, "I didn't know you were coming back!"

He eagerly returned the hug and placed a little peck on her cheek, "Of course. Couldn't let you have all the fun, could I?" They broke apart and sat down in the window seats, facing each other. "Besides," he dropped his head sheepishly and blushed, "in order to be a teacher you have to satisfactorily finish your own education." His head rose back up, and a serious look crossed his face as he looked out the window. "I know I was there last year, but it wasn't really the best year's education. I wanted a chance to do it properly." There was a darkness in his eyes at the memory of last year, and for a moment, he wasn't strictly there on the train.

"I didn't know you wanted to be a teacher, Neville, that's amazing." She spoke quietly, but the plain joy in her voice brought him back from his dark moment. He shook it off and smiled at her.

"Yeah, it won't be easy, and I still have to face the Mastery process after Hogwarts, and a few years teaching underneath Professor Sprout after all that, but it's what I want, and I'm willing to work for it. If there's anything I've learned being friends with you and Harry, it's that anything's possible if you're willing to do the work. I mean, you guys went out and tracked down all the Horcruxes and destroyed them. I can't begin to imagine what all you had to do to accomplish that, but Gryffindor's biggest swot even skipped out on a year's education to get it done. If that's not a testimony to the benefits of hard work, I don't know what is."

"We didn't destroy them all, Neville. You took care of Nagini." She leaned forward and placed her right hand over his left where it rested on his knee. "Never forget that. I," she paused for a moment before continuing, "I think your parents would be exceedingly proud of you." Her eyes threatened to spill the tears building up in them, and she could see that Neville was in much the same shape.

"Yeah. Gran said the same thing." There was an awkward silence between them for a moment, as they both fought their tears. They had just reclaimed control of their overflowing emotions when the compartment door opened again, admitting a giggling Ginny and Luna. Ginny sprawled into the seat next to Hermione, while Luna took the one next to Neville, and the two laughing girls lightened the mood, banishing the darkness that had crept into Neville and Hermione's conversation. The four of them passed light and happy conversation all the way to Hogsmeade.

Stepping off the train, Hermione stopped dead. She could see the Thestrals. They were so beautiful, though she knew not everyone would think so. She found her feet leading her to one, but Luna pulled her back, a gentle hand on her arm. "You shouldn't. Leave the mystery in place for those who can't see them." The wise words shocked Hermione, and she shook her head lightly before turning back to step into the carriage. "Thank you, Luna."

"You're welcome, Hermione. You can always ask Mr. Hagrid if you want to visit them later. He usually doesn't mind." Luna's musically lilting voice was a soothing balm to Hermione.

"That's a great idea. I think I'll do that one day soon." The two girls were in a carriage with Ginny and Neville, like they'd been on the train, and the carriage began creaking its way up the road to Hogwarts. She could see just the tops of the towers, and the rest of the castle was beginning to appear around the curved road as they rounded the lake. She was excited to see if anything had been changed in the repairs, and was nearly vibrating with the excitement of returning _home_.

A cool hand reached for Hermione's arm, and Luna murmured, "Calm down. It won't have changed that much." Her voice and the touch of her hand on Hermione's arm did serve to calm her down, but as the castle was finally revealed to her eyes, she couldn't help the rush of warmth that flooded her heart, or the tears that flooded her face. It was exactly the way it had always been. She was coming home, and it was the home she remembered. Her right hand reached for Luna's where it rested on her left forearm, and she clutched at it, needing the comfort of human touch.

Their hands clasped together tightly, and stayed that way until the carriage pulled up and stopped in front of the doors to the Entrance Hall. Squeezing Luna's hand one last time, she released her grip on it, wordlessly saying thanks. Neville was the first to exit the carriage, and he offered his hand to each girl in turn, helping them climb down.

Hermione inhaled sharply, ready to get the new year started, and took her first steps toward the large doors.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Later that night, Hermione was exploring her new rooms. There was a portrait just down to the left from The Fat Lady that served as the entrance to her private quarters. There was a small sitting room, containing a large writing desk from which she could do her work, and a comfortable arrangement of two wing-back chairs and a two-seat settee in front of the large fireplace, an oval-shaped table sitting between the seats and the fire. The wood was dark cherry with a shiny patina that bespoke its age, and the fabrics were all in black and shades of dark maroon and burgundy, with accents in a bright gold. Off to the left of the fireplace, there was a doorway leading to a spacious, but comfortable bedroom. There was another large fireplace here to the right of the door, with a window just beyond, situated within a comfortable-looking window seat. There were several cushions in the window seat, and Hermione could see herself sitting down to read for hours in that window-seat.

Further along the wall stood her bed. The Head Girl's rooms were afforded the same four-poster as the regular dorms, but instead of the single size, it was a double. The thick blanket was in the same dark red shades used in the sitting area, while the pillows were cased in gold, and the bed hangings were a deep black. There was a small nightstand next to the head of the bed, and the next well held a doorway to her own private bathroom. The bathroom also had a door from the sitting room for convenience. As she stepped through the bedroom doorway, she gasped. There was a bathtub nearly as big as the one in the Prefect's bathroom, with a large shower stall as well, and the toilet and lavatory. There were several stacks of thick, plush towels and washcloths, in the same color scheme as the rest of the rooms.

Hermione couldn't wait to try out that tub, but had some unpacking to do first. Moving back into the bedroom, she found her trunk in a niche at the foot of the bed. Between the bedroom and bathroom doors, there was a large cherry armoire, open and awaiting her clothes. She pulled out her robes and hung them in the armoire, making sure there were no wrinkles pressed into anything. Then her uniform shirts and skirts were placed on hangers and arranged on the closet bar. Stockings, tights, socks, and underwear were laid out in the top two drawers, and there were some pegs on the back of the left-hand door, awaiting her neck-ties. The bottom of the three drawers was quickly filled with the tee-shirts and shorts she used for pajamas. Lastly, her shoes were placed in the bottom cabinet.

Having put away her clothing, she wandered back into the sitting room to find a place for her books. On her first perusal of the space, she had missed the two large bookshelves nesting together between the bathroom door and the portrait entrance to the suite. They were mostly empty, but there were a few slim volumes on one shelf with a stiff piece of parchment tented upright next to them, her name printed on the front edge in green ink.

She opened the note and read through it, excited by the discovery.

_Miss Granger,_

_Welcome back to Hogwarts. Hopefully it still feels like the haven you told me it was that morning after the Battle. I have no doubts that you will quickly fill these shelves, but thought I would give you a small head-start. _

_Albus gifted me with a similar set of books when I occupied this suite of rooms in the Fall of 1942, so we'll just call it a tradition and go from there. I was also given an hour of his time for tea every Saturday night to discuss the books, the research of the day, and any concerns I had regarding my future, as it was quickly approaching. _

_I would extend the same invitation to you. See me after our first class to accept the offer, and I will tell you where to go and at what time. _

_Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress_

Hermione was pleased with the invitation. The books were mostly on modern theories of Transfiguration, but there were a couple on Charms theory as well. She was looking forward to reading and discussing them with Professor McGonagall. Settling the slim volumes back into their spots on the shelf, she summoned all the books from her trunk, arranging them all on the shelves. She was surprised at how much room remained when they were all in place, but shrugged. _Just means I have more books to buy!_ she thought.

With all of her things unpacked, Hermione decided to try out the large bathtub and then go to bed. It had been a long day.

=======================HG/MM=======================

The morning of Saturday the 19th of September dawned bright and clear. It was set to be a beautiful day outside; the kind of day one wanted to have for their nineteenth birthday. Hermione couldn't make herself enjoy the day, however. Nearly three weeks into the term, she was bored senseless. Most of her classes were covering remedial information from sixth year material, and she wasn't learning anything new. The two weekly teas she'd had with Professor McGonagall were the only thing making her time back at Hogwarts worthwhile.

She got along with all her professors, both those she already knew and the new replacements, and she knew there was so much she could learn from all of them, but the current material was stifling her intellect, and that had never been something Hermione had borne well.

Hermione was sitting in her little window seat, propped against several cushions, with a green and red tartan throw over her legs. The morning light really was beautiful through the window, and she was reading back over the Charms book that she and Minerva were going to discuss that night. It was quite an interesting little volume, containing information on several charms, including the Patronus. It seemed that if one wanted, with enough happy memories from which to draw and enough strength of character and magic, the form of one's Patronus could be changed, either temporarily or permanently.

It was an interesting bit of magic, and Hermione filed it away for later testing, continuing to read through the book.

=======================HG/MM=======================

That evening, Hermione announced herself to the portrait guarding Minerva's private rooms, and it swung open wordlessly. She stepped through, but didn't immediately see the witch she'd come to see. "Professor?" she called out.

"Miss Granger! Make yourself comfortable. I'll be right out." the disembodied voice of her mentor floated through the door leading to the bedroom. "The tea should be waiting if you want to go ahead and pour yourself a cup."

"Oh, sure. Did you want me to pour yours as well?" She was already lowering herself into her normal chair in front of the fire.

"That would be lovely. Thank you."

She poured both cups, leaving enough room in the other for milk to be added. Sitting back in her chair with the hot cup of tea, her eyes began to wander around the room. She frowned slightly, noticing several objects missing from their usual places.

Minerva breezed into the room, and Hermione's eyes widened with surprise. Gone were the heavy outer robes Hermione was accustomed to seeing, replaced by a dark green oxford shirt, hanging untucked over black linen slacks. The very top button was open, and the sleeves were rolled up just below the elbow. More shocking than the clothes, however, was the loose braid falling over her left shoulder down to her waist. Hermione had never seen her hair in anything but the tight bun, and it made her look twenty years younger.

"Sorry to keep you waiting. Our new Transfiguration professor arrives tomorrow, and I'll be moving into the Headmistress quarters and leaving these to him. It's amazing the things that build up over fifty years in the same rooms." She laughed quietly. "It would probably be a lot worse were it not for Mo... Well, suffice it to say that it could be much, much worse." Minerva sat in her chair, reaching to pour the milk in her tea.

Hermione shook her head, regaining the full use of her faculties. "New professor? You're not going to continue teaching?"

"Oh, no. With the promotion to Headmistress, I simply have too much to do to keep teaching as well. I only started the year out while my replacement got his affairs in order. You'll meet Professor Sutton in your next class. I think you'll like him. He's not nearly as old and stodgy as I am, and not so stuck in his ways." Minerva's nose wrinkled as she poked fun at herself, laughing at the characterization.

"Professor, you're neither old nor stodgy," Hermione defended her favorite professor against herself. "Especially not in that outfit with your hair down." She raised an eyebrow, moving her gaze over Minerva slowly.

Minerva lightly blushed at the comment, having forgotten that she had been cleaning in these clothes instead of the heavy woolen robes she normally wore. "Aye, well, not a one of my students would ever take me seriously again if I came out in this." She took a sip of her tea. "I taught in an outfit similar to this when I first started, only with a long skirt instead of the trousers, and a loose robe over the top, but I couldn't get anyone to concentrate on their lessons. A friend of mine suggested the changes, and I've seldom had that problem since. It definitely matters what the teachers wear if they're going to demand the respect of their students."

Hermione saw a bit of a wistful look in Minerva's eyes as she brought up her friend, and her curiosity took over. "Your friend must have been very wise." The look in her eyes grew a bit darker and sadder.

"Oh, aye, that she was. I've not seen her for many years, but wisdom was one thing she had in spades. That and courage. It took a lot to be who she was in those days, but it never seemed to affect her the way it affected so many others. I wonder where she is now, but I've not been able to track her down." Her voice softened and got very quiet. "I hope she made it through the war unhurt."

The silence grew quite thick for a moment.

"I'm so sorry, Professor. I wish there was something I could do to help." Hermione's voice was soft and gentle, and she reached a hand over to touch Minerva's arm to comfort her.

Minerva's hand reached over to pat Hermione's gently. "Thank you, lass, but there's nothing to do." She gripped Hermione's hand tightly for a second before releasing it, Hermione taking her hand back as well. "Now, for happier tidings. As I am officially no longer your teacher, if you wish, while we are in our weekly tea meetings, you may call me Minerva. In public, I shall have to remain 'old' Professor McGonagall, but in private, we can afford to be a little less formal, I think."

Hermione's heart swelled. "I'd like that, Minerva, and if we're being less formal in our meetings, then you must call me Hermione."

"I was reading through the little Charms book you gave me, and I saw where it's possible to change or disguise your Patronus, but all the other information I've read on the subject states that the only way to change a Patronus is by admission of great love. Like Harry's mum and dad – his was a stag, and hers a matching doe. Or Professor Snape's doe, matching that of Harry's mum. I thought that was the only way to permanently change its form."

"Oh, aye, and that's the most common way it happens. Not many people know there are other methods, or that it can be controlled. I've never, to my knowledge at least, known anyone with a second form. In most cases, especially amongst those of us who use them as a means of communication, it's necessary for the form to remain the same for identification's sake. For instance, if you received a Patronus message from Mr. Potter, and although it contained his voice, it was a different form, mightn't you assume it was a forged message from someone else?"

"Yes, I suppose that's true," Hermione agreed.

The discussion went on for the better part of an hour before their time was up. The tea had all been drunk, and the last of the biscuits had been eaten.

Heading for the door, Hermione turned around to face Minerva. "Good night, Minerva. The conversation was excellent, as usual, and I look forward to meeting next week to continue."

"Ah, yes. Next week. I almost forgot. As Professor Sutton will have taken up residence in these rooms, you will find me in the Headmistress Suite. It's just next to the office, so go to the Gargoyle and announce yourself there as usual. I'll be sure he knows to let you in the proper door."

"I hadn't thought about it. Thank you, and I'll see you next week."

"Good night, Hermione, and Happy Birthday."

"Thank you! Good night!" Hermione spun around and headed back to her quarters.

=======================HG/MM=======================

As much as Hermione didn't want to like Professor Sutton, she found that she did like him, quite a bit. He was in his mid-forties, and thus was the youngest professor she'd had except for Professors Snape and Lupin. He was very amiable, and taught the class with a quiet confidence that was infective to his students. He was a former Slytherin, but like Professor McGonagall before him, he was innately fair to students from all the Houses, not showing any of the favoritism that Professor Snape had been so known for.

In the first few weeks after his late arrival, he had won the respect of his fellow teachers as well as that of most of the student body. He didn't take it so easy on the students that they had too much spare time on their hands, but neither did he pile on so much work that they had no spare time at all.

He, as well as the rest of the professors, were finally moving past the remedial studies, and Hermione was finally beginning to learn again, and her boredom began to wane. Between stimulating classes and her weekly discussions with Minerva, Hogwarts was again becoming the place she'd always loved so much. There was the added bonus, of course, that nobody was in mortal peril this year. That was a refreshing change from her first years there.

She and Neville, along with Ginny and Luna, spent a lot of time in her private sitting area. She'd long since had to add extra workspace by magically duplicating her desk, and had expanded them so that two people could sit at each one comfortably. They all used Hermione's private miniature library for reference, as well as books they had gotten from the School's Library, which they stored on a special shelf in her room. It was quieter and easier to concentrate there than in the big Library, which was commonly in use by other students, both for studying and for other, more nefarious activities. The end of the war seemed to light a fire under the student body, and there wasn't a dark corner safe this year from secret snogging sessions.

Hermione found herself constantly surprised by Luna Lovegood. Ever since the Thestral incident and carriage ride, she was often distracted by the younger witch during their studies. She guessed she should have known how smart the Ravenclaw was, but it all stayed buried so often under the veneer of nargles and crumple-horned snorkacks. Staying in such close proximity to her this year, however, her intellect began to shine through that veneer, and it was causing an uncomfortable feeling to rise when they were together.

It didn't help that Luna had become incredibly handsy. The blonde witch was always finding some way to brush her hand or arm against Hermione, or somehow making sure that Neville and Ginny took the two wing-back seats in front of the fire, leaving the settee to the two of them so that their legs would press together while they sat. Hermione would frequently find that Luna's head had drifted over onto her shoulder while they were reading, and the itch to do something about it was desperately in need of a good scratch. The problem was that she didn't know if Luna leaned that way, or if she was just being extra affectionate. For all she knew, Luna was like that with all her close friends. This argument was mostly nullified by her actions with Neville and Ginny; neither of them got the treatment she'd been receiving, leaving Hermione to make the conclusion that Luna did lean in that direction, and had been making herself known for weeks.

Did she want to try and do something about it? Yes.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Lips were moving together, against each other, before one set opened slightly in invitation. The invitation was accepted with a light moan, and a tongue darted out to taste the other. This was no war, no fighting ensued. As easily as the lips had moved together, the tongues gently caressed each other. Hermione leaned over Luna, deepening the kiss while sweeping a hand upward from where it had been resting on the slim waist, softly touching the swell of Luna's breast. She pulled back from the kiss before going further, looking into Luna's eyes, silently asking permission. Without audibly saying yes, Luna took a deep breath and surged forward, reconnecting the kiss and pressing Hermione's hand further into the touch with her own hand before reaching up to tangle her fingers into the riotous curls at the base of Hermione's skull, tugging lightly.

It was Halloween night, and had started much like any other Halloween. They had all gone to the Feast, and Hermione had finally seized the chance to take action as she'd resolved days earlier. As they were being dismissed from the Feast, Hermione said her good-nights to Ginny and Neville, and stopped Luna to ask if she'd like to come up for a while. They had walked mostly in silence, both feeling that something big was going to happen, but neither willing to give it a voice.

They'd sat next to each other on the settee, and the silence between them was palpable. Finally working up the courage to say something, Hermione had blurted out, "I'm risking our friendship here, but I'm really hoping I haven't completely misread things and that you're actually interested in something … more, and damn it all, I'd really like to kiss you. If you're not opposed to the idea." She felt incredibly awkward, and then Luna's musical voice answered her.

"Oh, good. You finally realized it wasn't just the wrackspurts." She had crossed the distance between them and pressed her lips against Hermione's, leading to their current situation. Hermione had quickly taken control, and was now reaching for her wand to lengthen the settee to give them more room.

The charm successfully cast, her wand clattered to the floor unheeded, and she reclaimed Luna's mouth with her own. Until the blonde witch had done it, Hermione hadn't known that she liked the sensation of her hair being pulled, but the discomfort it caused only stoked the flames of her desire further. Tearing her lips from Luna's, she trailed kisses along her jawline, down along her neck to where her pulse was beating furiously. The tender spot found, she laid more pressure with her lips and began to suck in, reddening the skin and leaving her mark behind. Luna hissed at the sensation, and brought her hands to Hermione's face, pushing her back with a gentle pressure. "No marks." Hermione released the pressure immediately, pulling back to look into the face of her friend. "It might be best if we stop for now, Hermione."

"If that's what you want." Hermione sat back, helping Luna to sit up as well, the two still facing each other on the lengthened couch.

"No, I want more," she frowned, "but somehow I'm sensing that this is more of an experiment to you. Maybe you do and maybe you don't want me, but either way, I don't think this is the time to go any further than we have tonight."

Hermione could see the wisdom in what was being said, but couldn't help but feel a bit hurt.

Luna's hand reached up to cup her cheek. "Don't take this the wrong way. I very much enjoyed myself tonight, and have been hoping you would come to terms with that part of yourself for some time. I just feel like this is you just starting to come to terms with … alternative desires, whereas I've been aware of myself and who I prefer for a couple years. I'm just glad that you've lived up to my expectations of you; you were every bit as good as I'd hoped you would be." She watched as Hermione's face flushed. "And I wouldn't be opposed to a repeat performance sometime. I just think this is enough for tonight."

"I'd like that." Hermione didn't trust herself to say more just then.

"It's nearing curfew anyway, and I should be heading back to my own room for the night." She leaned forward and pressed one last chaste kiss to Hermione's lips before standing to leave. "Good night, Hermione. Sleep well."

She didn't really think sleep would be possible, but still she stood and bade her friend a good night in return. After Luna had gone, Hermione sank back down onto the couch, her fingers tracing her lips. At last she had the answer to a question she'd been asking for a long time: yes, girls' lips were softer.

=======================HG/MM=======================

November and early December were filled with clandestine meetings, the two girls finding that every time they were alone in Hermione's sitting room, they couldn't keep their hands – or lips – to themselves. Hermione was learning the map of Luna's body with a very hands-on approach. It was the thirteenth of December, the final Sunday night before Christmas holidays. The thought of two weeks apart made her more aggressive than normal, and she'd suggested that they move from the sitting room into the bedroom. Luna studied her face, concentrating on her eyes for several minutes, before softly whispering yes. Hermione's heart flip-flopped in her chest, and she stood and led Luna by the hand through the door slowly, drawing out the suspense of the moment.

The night would become one of the most special in her memory, filled with a combination of gentle and hard caresses and strokes, gasping breaths, questing fingers and lips and tongues. Bare skin glided over bare skin, and in turn, both girls shouted their completion to the heavens, spiraling back down to a bed definitely made worse for the wear. Hermione pulled the blankets back over the pair of them, lying on her back with Luna curled into her side with her head resting on Hermione's chest. She pressed a kiss to the top of Luna's head, dimmed the lights with her wand before tucking it under her pillow, and they both fell asleep.

It was still dark when Hermione woke, alone. "Luna?" she called out quietly.

"I'm here. Just getting dressed so I can be in my own dorm before it's time to get up. We have classes today, and I don't want to get in trouble for leaving from the wrong place." She finished buttoning her robes and sat on the edge of the bed next to Hermione, her hand seeking out that of her lover. Grasping it delicately, she pulled it up and placed a soft kiss on its palm. "I was going to wake you before I left. I didn't want to leave the wrong impression, because last night was lovely." She leaned down and kissed Hermione lovingly before sitting back up. "I do have to go though."

Hermione nodded, "I didn't even think about that when we fell asleep." Her hand was still being held by Luna, and she twined their fingers together. "I don't know how I'm going to make it through today without turning red at every thought of you. You're amazing."

"You'll make it, and so shall I." She colored up herself at the last comment. "And I'm no more amazing than you." She leaned down for one last kiss before releasing Hermione's hand and standing up. "If I don't go now, I won't make it before everyone else starts waking up, wondering where I am." Hermione shifted in the bed, the blanket falling off her chest, baring it to the cold morning air. "You make it very difficult to leave you, you know. Horrible habit."

Hermione laughed and covered herself back up. "I do what I can. Be careful on your way back. Don't get caught, hm?"

"I won't." Luna flashed a brilliant smile at Hermione, totally unlike her normal dreamy half-smiles. "I've learned all the best ways to sneak back into my dorm over the last couple months. You keep me here far too close to curfew most nights."

"If it all led to this, then I can't pretend to be sorry. Now scoot, before you get detention with Filch. I want more opportunities to keep you out until curfew this week."

They both laughed at Hermione's cheek, but with a quick goodbye kiss, Luna did manage to leave, and made it back to her dorm just in the nick of time to avoid detection.

Hermione stretched languidly, enjoying the sensation of the luxurious sheets sliding against her naked skin. Deciding she didn't have enough time to go back to sleep, she took a long, hot bath before getting dressed and heading down to the Great Hall to start her day.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Tuesday morning, she received an owl from Harry at breakfast, asking if she was coming home for the holidays. Of course, that was her plan, but the developments in her relationship with Luna had her worried about a confrontation with Ron, who she would be sure to see if she left the castle.

Previous letters with Harry had revealed Ron's decision to pursue his Quidditch career rather than the position in the Auror office with Harry. He seemed to be enjoying it so far, which had been a relief to Hermione. She had worried that his prior confidence issues on the pitch would rear their heads again, but that didn't appear to be the case, at least to this point. Harry was greatly enjoying the rigors of Auror training. As promised by Kingsley, nobody gave him any special attention for being who he was, and the semi-anonymity of just being Auror-Trainee Potter was liberating. Of course, everyone _knew_ who he was, but they all treated him just the same as they treated everyone else.

She debated on whether or not to go back for two days, but Thursday night, she decided that even though it would be painful, she needed to let Ron know what was going on and quit letting him think there was something more between them than there actually was. She penned a short note to Harry, letting him know that yes, she was coming back, and asking him to have Kreacher prepare her rooms.

The upcoming drama with Ron aside, she really was looking forward to spending some time with Harry again. He was truly her best friend, and she missed seeing him every day.

And … it would be okay with Ron, wouldn't it? ...Wouldn't it?

=======================HG/MM=======================

**A/N:** The response I've gotten to the first chapter is amazing. Thanks for each and every review, follow, and favorite. Every one of them keeps me going.

I don't know when I'll update again, or what kind of schedule I can promise to keep to. I will try to update at least once a week, but this is the biggest project I've ever attempted, and I want to do it right. So if it takes a little less or a little longer to get an update out, know that it's not to punish anyone; I just want to make sure it's all done to my standards. I wouldn't publish a story that wasn't.

Oh, and be warned. I will likely be fucking with a lot of canon ships, but will probably leave a few untouched. I hold nothing sacrosanct.

I hope you all enjoy this and will keep reading to see what happens next.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.

I swore that after chapter two, I would give myself a couple days of not writing to finish getting over my nasal surgery, but as it turns out, sleeping upright doesn't exactly work for me, and in my delirium, I'm getting a lot done.

As usual, thank you to all my reviewers. You have no idea how crazy my mother thinks I am when I squeal madly upon checking my email. I love you all.

This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Ron was on an exhibition match trip, so Hermione had a short reprieve before the inevitable drama was to begin.

Her brain was in overdrive, going over all the different ways the conversation could go, and sleep was out of the question. She threw the covers off with a huff, and got out of bed. She was thinking maybe a cup of hot cocoa would help, or maybe an herbal tea that didn't have any caffeine. It was amazing what a soothing hot beverage could do to help settle her brain sometimes. She threw a cotton bathrobe over her pajamas and made her way quietly down to the kitchen. She knew she could have called Kreacher and gotten whatever she wanted, no matter the time, but there was something to the process of making things herself that helped with getting to sleep.

She opened the cupboard next to the sink and found supplies for either drink. She decided on the Tulsi Leaf tea, to help her relax rather than something that would force her to sleep. Grabbing the kettle, she filled it with water and set it on the stove to heat. She was standing in front of the sink, one foot arched on top of the other, her hands spread to either side holding on to the rim of the cold steel sink. Her brain was still running circles around the conversation to come, and she was oblivious to her surroundings.

So when a warm hand touched her arm, she jumped, her elbow connecting painfully with the person behind her, and she fell backward onto her arse, cursing loudly.

"Merlin, Hermione. Your elbow's sharper than I remember." Harry was rubbing his chest where her elbow had made contact.

"Well you shouldn't sneak up on someone like that," she snapped, standing and rubbing her abused posterior with both hands, wincing.

"I wasn't sneaking!" he quietly exclaimed. "I called your name at least five times, but you were off lost in thought." The kettle started to whistle. "Here, sit down. I'll fix us both a cup."

She sat, and he got another mug down, plopping a bag of chamomile into it, before nearly filling both mugs with water. He grabbed a couple spoons and the mugs and carried it all to the table. While they were waiting for the tea to steep, he asked, "Now what were you thinking about so hard that you didn't hear me? You look like you need to talk to someone, and I'm here for you."

She breathed in deeply, looking everywhere but his face, trying to make up her mind if she wanted to confide in Harry. He reached over and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him, and her resolve crumbled. "Oh, Harry," she breathed. "I don't know what to do."

"Tell me what's going on and we'll get it sorted. We always do, don't we?" His voice was gentle and low, his eyes were soft and filled with their history and love, and his fingers were warm against her chin. Faced with all this, who could resist telling all?

"How much has Ron said about us?"

"Not much, honestly. I know he was a right git for a few days after you and Gin left, but then I started Auror training and he started Quidditch training and he seemed to get better."

"I told him the night before I left that we should take a break and be free agents while we were going to be apart for so long. I didn't want either of us to have an opportunity for something else present itself and not be able to explore it without feeling like we were cheating. He agreed, reluctantly, but we were both crying, and later that night, he came up to my room and we ..." she stopped, unable to say the words to her brother in all but blood.

"You had sex."

She nodded sharply. "Yes. And I let him sleep through our leaving the next morning."

Harry exhaled with a soft whoosh. "That explains him being a git. That wasn't a very nice thing to do to him, Hermione."

"I know, Harry, I know. But it hadn't changed anything between us. There were still going to be all these months apart, and as much as I love him, I... it's not like that." Her voice got deathly quiet, and she steeled herself for what was coming. "The truth is that I like both boys and girls, and over the last couple of months, I found myself attracted to someone. And she's attracted back. And we're in a relationship." A vague smile graced her lips as she thought about Sunday night with Luna. "It's really good, Harry. Easy. And I feel things with her that I never felt with Ron. We might not be together forever, but for now, it's just … good."

"Oh. That's not quite what I was expecting to hear." Her eyes were pleading with her friend to understand and accept her in this. "Okay. You know I love you no matter who you choose. I don't care about that; I love you. You need to know that before I go any further." Relief washed over her like a warm summer shower. "But..." _Oh, gods, there would be a but._ "But Hermione, this summer, you treated him like a certainty. Then you said you wanted a break and followed up on it by having sex with him and followed up on that by leaving the next morning before he woke up, as though you were ashamed of what you'd done. We haven't written each other a lot since September, but from what I gather, you haven't written even one letter to him. Now you show up – at Christmas – and are what, planning to tell him about this girl you're with as though he never mattered? That's … cruel, Hermione."

Her face fell at how badly Harry was construing her actions. He was one of a very few people whose opinions truly mattered to her, and she needed him to understand. "That's not entirely fair, Harry. Yes, I left him that morning with no explanation, but we'd had that discussion the night before. I don't know why he came into my room that night, and honestly I don't know why I let things happen the way they did, but as I said, it changed nothing. Could I have written a letter trying to explain? Sure, but I would never put something that personal in writing instead of having the discussion face-to-face, and there has been no chance for that.

"I was selfish. I was so happy to be going back to Hogwarts that I let that desire take over everything. And then the very reason I gave him for the break came up. I never, ever expected that, Harry. You have to believe that. I was just making it through my days: classes, homework, reading, more classes, more homework, more reading. Neville and Ginny and Luna were there during a lot of the reading and homework, but for all of it, I was lonely. I missed you and I missed Ron. Merlin help me, sometimes I missed Parvati and Lavender and their inane chatter in the dorm. Then Halloween came, and with it this opportunity to explore something new, and I seized it. I grabbed hold with both hands and haven't looked back, because everything else aside, it isn't complicated. It isn't full of all the reasons it should be wrong. I am happy, Harry, and I know it's selfish to be happy while Ron's been pining away or whatever, but she makes me happy and I can't find the wrong in it."

A throat cleared in the doorway. "I, uh, haven't been pining."

Hermione's eyes closed, unable to face the owner of that voice.

Harry looked back and forth between them, unsure what to do. He could see the hurt written on Hermione's face, and the shame she'd been hiding at how she'd treated Ron. He glanced back over at Ron, and a subtle nod of the ginger's head had him scrambling to his feet. "I'll just … I'll go. Let you two talk."

"Thanks, mate. See you in the morning, yeah?" Ron's voice was low and quiet, completely unlike either Harry or Hermione were expecting.

"Yeah. Good night." A last frantic glance at Hermione, still frozen with her eyes closed at the table, and then he was gone, scampering up the stairs to his room.

Ron shrugged off his overcoat, banishing it up to his own room. He walked over to the sink and grabbed a clean mug and bag of tea, not caring what the blend was. He filled his mug with water from the still-hot kettle, and brought it all back to the table, sitting on the bench opposite Hermione, where Harry had just been sitting.

"Your tea looks like it's ready, Hermione. Go ahead and drink it. Don't let me disturb you." He reached to remove the bag from her mug, stirring in a spoon of sugar and placing the mug close to her hand so she could feel its heat.

"Ron, I... how much did you hear?" Her voice was cracking and tears had begun to leak from her eyes.

"Pretty much everything, I think. The kettle was just whistling when I came in." He was stirring at his cup of tea, trying to rush the steeping by squishing the bag against the sides of the mug repeatedly.

"Oh god, Ron, I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to find out like that." Tears were streaming down her face by then.

"You know, I should be upset. I really should, but I'm not. You were fairly clear that night that we weren't to be exclusive while we were apart. I actually came up there to let you know that while I might not agree, I actually could see the wisdom in what you'd said. But then you moaned like that and I wasn't strong enough to say no. I love you, I probably always will, and I couldn't refuse the offer, even though I should have. In the end, I think it was both hello and goodbye written together. When I woke up alone the next morning, I knew it was over. If we'd truly felt for each other what we'd thought we felt, you wouldn't have been able to leave like that, and I wouldn't have been so at peace with it. I wanted to write you and let you know that I'd understood, but it's like you told Harry, it's not something you put in a letter, and we just haven't had the opportunity to meet and hash it all out until now."

Her eyes shot open, searching his face for evidence of untruth, but finding nothing. What she found was sadness, of course, but also acceptance and a total lack of guile. "I..."

"It's okay, 'Mione. I've had months to come to grips with everything." He paused, "Well, almost everything. A girl?" One of his eyebrows shot upward. "I figured you'd struck up something with Neville since he went back also, but I never figured you for the dyke type. You never mentioned to Harry... who is she? Is it someone I know?"

She stammered, "I... yes. You know her. Quite well, actually. But I don't want to out someone without permission, so I'm sorry, but I can't tell you her name."

He took a sip of his tea, wincing at the bitterness that came from trying to force the process.

"Here, take Harry's. It's had time to steep properly, and I don't think he's coming back. It's chamomile though, so you'll probably want a bit of sugar." She pushed Harry's mug toward him.

"Ah. Cheers." He did add two spoons of sugar and stirred it in before taking a sip. "Much better. Thanks." He laughed quietly. "So it's a girl who I know well, in your own social circle, and is someone you would feel comfortable enough to make a move on. Honestly Hermione, that pretty much only leaves Gin or Luna, and as much as I love you and her, I don't think it's my sister."

Her eyes widened at his insight, unconsciously confirming his idea. "Alright, alright, no need to twist your knickers just because I got something right for once. Drink your tea before it gets cold." He took another sip of his tea, as though trying to show her what to do.

She laughed at his antics and sipped from her mug, appreciating the flavor of the Tulsi Leaf. "I only came down to have tea because I was worried about you and your reaction to everything. I don't think I'll actually need it to get to sleep now." She yawned broadly, proving her point. "See?" she laughed drowsily.

"Yep, I think you'll be fine. Go on up. I'll sort all this mess before Kreacher has to." He started gathering up the mugs and spoons to wash. Hermione yawned again and pulled her wand from where she'd stashed it in her nightly braid. "Are you a witch or aren't you?" she giggled, casting cleaning charms on all the dishes and the table, banishing the spent tea bags to the garbage, before magically putting the dishes where they went.

"Technically speaking, love, I'm a wizard, but it's a witch you want, maybe I can accommodate." He waggled his eyebrows at her, and they both dissolved into fits of laughter.

"You're a cheeky git. Now come on, it's time for bed." She paused for half a moment. "Alone."

"Yep, all by ourselves." They walked together up the stairs and parted at her door. She watched him continue down the hall to his own door before calling out, "Ron?"

He stopped, hand on the doorknob. "Yeah?"

"We're okay, then?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Because you're one of my best friends and I don't want to lose you over what could have been."

"You won't, 'Mione. G'night."

"Night, Ron. Love you."

"Love you, too."

And they both went inside their respective bedrooms. Hermione removed the thin cotton robe and dropped it to the floor before collapsing onto the bed, pulling the sheets and blanket over herself. She was asleep within minutes.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Alright, it's a short update this time, but I needed to get this confession/conversation out of the way, and there's a lot happening in the next chapter, so I didn't want this dominating it.

I know a lot of us who write the non-Ron/Hermione ships tend to villainize Ron, and initially, I was going to do it, too. However, what started as a late-night chat with Harry twisted into this, and I couldn't help but run with it. I've never hated Ron as a character; I just don't think that he and Hermione are as compatible as JKR makes them out to be. So I'm sorry if you like the villain Ron, but he won't be making an appearance here.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.

So it's a mixed-bag of responses as to how y'all like my characterization of Ron in that last chapter. I'm sorry to those I've disappointed, but I've looked back through my outline of where the story's going, and this understanding and slightly more mature Ron definitely has his place in what's coming.

In terms of his acceptance and maturity, my idea is that after abandoning Harry and Hermione during the Horcrux hunt, the time he had to spend without them, knowing it was all his fault, and that of the Horcrux once he was free of its influence made him mature just a little bit. Being helpless while Bellatrix tortured Hermione later made him further aware of how easily he could lose the people close to him. Then Fred's (or here, Percy's) death in the final battle made it all terribly real. So yes, he matured, and not overnight. And as one reviewer pointed out, he'd had months to come to terms with the situation with Hermione, so I don't think it was out of character as some are assuming.

That's pretty much all I have to say about that, paraphrasing a classic line from Forrest Gump.

**NOTICE**: There has been a minor change in the first chapter, wherein I throw out a bit of canon. I have replaced Fred's death with Percy's because after all, I just can't split up the twins. I can't do it. I don't care if they did throw snowballs in Voldemort's face in the first book. (Look it up; it happened. PS/SS Ch.12) I need both of my adorable, yet mischievous Weasley twins to be alive and together. *squishes them*

This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM=======================

A few words between Harry and Ron the next morning cleared everything up, and the rest of the holidays passed in happiness. They spent Christmas and Boxing Day at The Burrow, much to the joy of Molly and Arthur, who were feeling their empty nest especially strongly this year.

Bill and Fleur were living their lives at Shell Cottage. Charlie was, as ever, off caring for the Dragons in Romania. Fred and George were in the flat above their shop. Ron was splitting his time between the Burrow and the CM, but found himself spending more time away from the Burrow as time passed. Ginny was off at Hogwarts, still technically under her parents' roof, but much of her time during breaks was spent with Harry, Ron, and Hermione at the CM.

Everyone had made it back for the days surrounding Christmas, however, and the nest was full again. Rooms were full to capacity, even rooms that hadn't been used for quite some time. With Harry bunking in with Ron and Hermione in with Ginny, Charlie would have been relegated to the sofa, but for Hermione's quick thinking. She searched through her little beaded bag and found the tent Bill had loaned her. She triumphantly put it up out in the garden, and soon Charlie was fighting with the Twins over the right to sleep in it rather than in the crowded house. In the end, they all three shared it, none of them willing to give in.

There were gifts exchanged, pranks pulled thanks to the Twins, and much food and drink consumed, to the great delight of Molly Weasley and her cooking habits. It was a happy holiday for all involved.

=======================HG/MM=======================

New Year's Eve found the intrepid Golden Trio, along with Ginny, at the CM. They'd gotten ahold of some Muggle fruity barely-alcoholic drinks, and had started in on them.

Hermione was making a face at the flavor of the drink she'd picked up, and found herself wishing they'd just gotten Butterbeer and mixed in a little firewhiskey to pick up the alcoholic content.

"Not very good, are they?" remarked Harry, making his own face at the taste.

"No," she replied, casting a quick _Tempus_ to see what time it was. 9:37. Not too late to hit up the Leaky Cauldron for something better, then. "I think I'll just pop over to the Leaky and pick up some butterbeer."

"Good idea. These 'alcopop' things the Muggle shop owner recommended are rubbish." Harry agreed.

"Any requests for anything else? Ron? Ginny?"

"Butterbeer and either firewhiskey or vodka sounds great to me," said Ron, and Ginny agreed with him.

"Right then. Back in a tick." She dropped the Muggle beverage in the bin on her way to the back door. She stepped out into the gently falling snow and turned her face up to catch a couple flakes on her eyelashes. The cold made her shiver slightly in the thin jumper she'd worn, so with concentration and just a slight turn, she disapparated, appearing a moment later outside London's Wizarding Pub.

She headed inside the derelict-looking building, thankful for the warmth of the large fire as it warmed the room. She made her way over to the bar, noticing the lack of expected patrons in the room.

"Good evening, Tom!" she greeted the aged barkeep.

"Miss Granger, a pleasure as always. What can I do for you tonight?" His grumpy voice belied the positive nature of his words.

"Can I get, oh, two dozen butterbeers, and a bottle each of mid-grade firewhiskey and vodka?" She clarified mid-grade because she didn't want the cheapest disgusting swill he sold, but didn't want to pay a couple hundred galleons for a bottle, either.

"Certainly, Miss Granger. One moment." He walked off to fill her order, grumbling under his breath.

She stood there, glancing around the mostly-empty room, when the fireplace flames grew green and someone emerged from the Floo. The new visitor cast a charm to rid themselves of soot and looked up. Hermione smiled brightly, seeing the face of her girlfriend reveal itself. Luna smiled rather broadly herself when she saw Hermione, and she quickly crossed the room, throwing herself into unsuspecting arms.

"I'm so happy to see you," Luna said, her words muffled from her head being buried in Hermione's chest.

Hermione tightened her arms around Luna's waist. "I'm happy to see you, too. Is anything wrong?" She was a little worried at the very public embrace.

"Not really. I've just really been missing you," she mumbled, head still buried. Hermione leaned her head down to rest on top of Luna's. "I've missed you, too."

They stayed that way until Tom came out with her rather large order. "Here you are, Miss Granger. As requested."

The girls sprang apart, and Hermione inspected the firewhiskey and vodka, as though she knew what she was looking at. "Fine, fine. Everything looks to be in order, Tom. How much do I owe you?"

"Twenty Galleons even, Miss." *

She handed over the currency and shrank everything, carefully placing it in her beaded bag. "Thank you, Tom."

"Thank you."

She turned back to Luna, "What are you doing out tonight? Fancy coming over? We have plenty to drink, and if you're hungry, we could probably pull something together."

"I'm not hungry, and I don't drink much, but I'd like the company, if you don't mind." Her head tilted to one side.

"Of course I don't mind." She smiled brightly again and subtly reached for Luna's hand. Luna accepted the gesture and they walked back out the front door.

"I don't have my license yet. Can you side-along, or should I go back in and take the Floo?" Luna's musical voice floated across the frigid air.

"I can side-along you, no problem." She released Luna's hand and pulled the blonde witch into her side, feeling Luna's arms wrap securely around her waist. She wrapped her arm around Luna's shoulders, placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head, and apparated both of them away to the back-yard of the CM. They stood there, the snow gently falling, arms still wrapped around each other, enjoying the moment of closeness. Hermione shivered, reminding them that she hadn't put on a robe or jacket. The moment broken, they separated and went inside.

Stepping inside the kitchen, Hermione shuddered, the cold falling off quickly as the heat reached her. Luna swung her robe off and hung it from a peg by the door. Hermione opened her bag and pulled out the miniaturized drinks, restoring them to normal size once they were all on the table. She set the bag down on the table and turned to where Luna was standing, watching with a dreamy smile as she watched Hermione sorted out the drinks. She smiled at the vision caused by the firelight streaming through the artful halo of floating blonde hair surrounding Luna's head.

She held her hand out for Luna's, and when the hold was accepted, she gently pulled her over to the table, sitting on one of the long benches, tugging to indicate that Luna should sit as well. Once they were both seated, Hermione looked into the grey eyes of her girlfriend and asked, "I haven't told anyone we're together because I didn't want to 'out' you without permission. Ron guessed when we discussed things, but I never actually confirmed his guess. So it's up to you how we go in there. I don't mind acting as though we're just friends, but if you don't mind, I'd really like to tell them. It's just Harry and Ron and Ginny. Although if we tell them tonight, I'd like to tell Neville when we get back to school as well, because that wouldn't really be fair to Neville. He's been a good friend, especially this year, and we haven't always been very kind to him, and I feel rather badly about that, so..." Luna stopped her babbling with a finger to the lips.

"Shh. Quit rambling. I'm happy to tell them, and Neville when we get back. I have nothing to hide." Luna smiled at Hermione, a mysterious half-smile behind which Hermione hadn't quite grasped the meaning.

Hermione beamed, "Are you sure? I don't want to pressure you or anything."

"You're not pressuring me. Like I said, I have nothing to hide from anyone." Luna paused for a moment. "Are _you_ sure?"

"Absolutely." The brilliant beam was still on Hermione's face, but it was quickly replaced by a sharper, more predatory look as she quickly pulled Luna into a tight embrace, pressing their chests together, reaching up to cradle Luna's head between her hands. She immediately tilted her head down and moved in hungrily for the kiss. She gave no choice for a gentle meeting of lips, instantly dominating the other witch's mouth with her own, tongue sweeping in, met eagerly by its counterpart. Luna's arms wrapped around Hermione, her hands reaching up to grip each of her shoulders, melting into the warm embrace of her girlfriend.

They kissed for several minutes before hands began to roam, setting each other up for something they couldn't finish that night, especially while in the kitchen. Hermione finally broke the kiss off, resting their foreheads against each other, eyes closed, both girls breathing hard.

"We should probably go in. They'll be wondering why I'm taking so long to pick up some drinks." She opened her eyes and brought her head back up, taking in the flush on Luna's cheeks and the swollen lips that would be a dead giveaway to their activities. "You're beautiful with my kisses written on your face, you know." Luna's eyes fluttered open to meet her gaze.

"So are you. Then again, you're beautiful all the time." Luna breathed the words out, and they almost drifted into another kiss, but were interrupted by Kreacher popping into the room. At the crack of his apparition, the girls jumped apart, in _Saviari interruptus_.

"Oh, Mistress Hermione. You're back." The aged House-Elf had revised his opinion on Muggle-borns, or at least his opinion on _this_ Muggle-born, starting when they'd been in the house before acquiring the locket Horcrux, and continuing when she'd headed the clean-up of the CM over the summer. Asking his advice on the best and most respectful way to dispose of the Elf-heads had been the proverbial last straw in his reluctance to both trust and like the witch. It was after the burial that he had begun to refer to her as his Mistress, as he called Harry his Master. Ron and Ginny were still Mister and Miss, but were held in nearly as high regard as his current opinions on Harry and Hermione.

"And who has the Mistress brought with her?" He croaked out in his bullfrog voice.

"Kreacher, this is Luna Lovegood, friend of both myself and Harry. She'll be with us for our New Year celebration tonight."

Kreacher bowed slightly, his hands clasped tightly together in front of him. "Is there anything Kreacher can get for the Mistress or her guest? If you are hungry, Kreacher can put something together very quickly. It would be no problem for Kreacher. Kreacher is pleased to serve his Master and Mistress."

Remembering that Luna had said she wasn't hungry, Hermione replied, "No, Kreacher, we don't need anything to eat, but thank you for offering."

He looked disappointed to not be needed, but bowed again. "Then if Kreacher is not needed, Kreacher will go to bed now. If the Master or Mistress want anything, they need only call his name."

"Thank you, Kreacher. Good night." She smiled at him as he crawled into the last space that had been renovated in the old house. They had finally talked him into allowing himself a bed and a clean quilt instead of the dirty tangle of blankets that had been in there before. Hermione had even made him a small set of shelves to hold his treasures, the greatest of which was still the fake locket Harry had given him. One of her goals was to find some of the other items Mundungus had stolen from the house and get them back. Merlin knew Harry didn't want them around, but she thought Kreacher might want them. She didn't know much about the average life-span of a house-elf, but from his appearance and demeanor, she assumed he probably didn't have a huge amount of time left, and as she would for anyone else in that position, she wanted to make his time comfortable.

"He seems like an agreeable elf, and very well-spoken as well," Luna remarked.

"He wasn't always so agreeable; we've had to work really hard on that. You're right, though, he is incredibly well-spoken. Maybe that's due to his age. I've never asked."

Hermione stood up and grabbed several bottles of butterbeer from the table. "Alright, come on. Let's get the party started. Could you bring the whiskey and vodka, please?" Luna picked up the bottles as requested, and followed Hermione into the library where Harry, Ginny, and Ron were waiting.

"Look alive," she shouted as they came through the door. "We've got company, and we've got decent drinks!" She sat the butterbeer on a coffee table before banishing several empty bottles of the Muggle alcopops they'd been drinking when she left away to the bin out back.

There was a chorus of "Hello Luna!" from the three of them. They were each sitting in their own settee, leaving no space for Hermione and Luna to sit together. Eyeing the girls and the seating arrangement, Ron got up and sat beside his sister.

"Oy! What'd you do that for?" Ginny asked irately.

"So Hermione and Luna can sit together."

"They don't have to sit together, git." Seeing the girls settling into the now-empty settee as Ron had intended, she got up with a huff and sat next to Harry, leaning into his side and causing him to blush furiously.

Ron shrugged and stretched out, filling his settee by laying his arms to either side along the back frame and angling his hips to allow his legs to straighten out, resting one ankle over the other.

There was an uncomfortable silence for several minutes. Ginny was curling further into Harry to try and dig at Ron, Harry was awkwardly trying to get comfortable in the onslaught, Ron was relaxing admirably with a butterbeer in hand, and Hermione and Luna were each sipping at a butterbeer while discreetly holding hands in between their legs.

Then Harry noticed the hand-holding and shot straight up in his seat, knocking Ginny to the floor. His gaze was moving quickly between their faces and their joined hands, putting the dots together. "Luna, Hermione? And how did Ron know you would want to sit together? You told him, but didn't tell me? For crying out loud!" He stood and paced in front of the fire, his emotions flashing through his eyes.

Hermione stood, releasing Luna's hand, and got angry right back at him. "It's not as though I had a _chance_ to tell you after he came in and interrupted our discussion! And like I told Ron that night, I would never _EVER_ violate someone's privacy like that without prior approval! It was hard enough admitting to _you_ about _myself_ without outing someone else in the process. _My_ relationships have nothing to do with _you_, Harry Potter, and I'll thank you to remember that!" She quit yelling, chest heaving and eyes flashing.

The other occupants of the room were sitting, nervously staring between Harry and Hermione, not used to them fighting like this anymore. Ginny had gotten back up into her seat and was looking at Luna, who was blushing lightly at the attention. "So … I take it Hermione and Luna are in a relationship? That's great news. Congratulations to both of you."

Her remarks cut the tension in the room, and Harry stopped pacing to look down at his shoes, embarrassed at his outburst. Hermione closed her eyes and breathed in deeply to regain her calm. Sitting back next to Luna and grabbing her hand, she took another swig from her butterbeer bottle and then curtly said, "Yes." Another swig from the bottle and she added, more softly, "Thank you."

"Now, see, Hermione, that wasn't awkward at all. Nothing to worry about." Luna's voice further calmed Hermione down, and the younger witch gripped the hand between them a little tighter. Hermione looked over at Luna, who winked cheekily, forcing a rush of laughter to bubble out of Hermione's mouth.

The affection between them obvious, Harry sheepishly sat back down next to Ginny and collapsed back into the seat. "I'm sorry, Hermione and Luna. I over-reacted. Of course I support your right to be with whoever you want. Like I told you last week, I love you no matter what. I just … you said a girl, but I wasn't expecting Luna to be her." He summoned a bottle of butterbeer and took a long sip of its contents.

"Who did you think it was, Harry, Gin?" He spewed butterbeer in an impressive spray, managing to get a bit on every one of the room's occupants.

Ginny raised one eyebrow suggestively, "Oh, is that the fantasy, Hermione? 'Cause I could probably be persuaded."

Hermione choked on her own drink, but managed to keep it all in her mouth, unlike Harry, who lost yet another sip to a dribble down his chin.

"Come on, Gin! I don't need that image in my head! You're my sister!" Ron's shout of outrage was humorous to everyone except himself.

"Er – no, I'm good, thanks." Hermione squeaked out.

The silence from before took over the room again for a minute before Ginny started snickering, causing an avalanche of healing laughter from everyone else. The laughter effectively cleared the tension in the room, and their normal conversation resumed as though the strange turns of events had never happened.

Soon, they began to get into the harder liquor, and by a quarter to midnight, everyone but Luna was completely sloshed, and even she was slightly tipsy. The blonde witch leaned over to whisper in Hermione's ear, "I should really be heading home. I'm sure Daddy will be expecting me soon."

"Okay. Give me just a second and I'll get you home." Hermione summoned a warm cloak from upstairs. With it draped over one arm, she stood a little unsteadily and announced, "Okay. I'm taking Luna home now. I'll be back." She drew Luna into her side, her right arm tightly wrapped around her waist. Luna's left arm draped itself around Hermione's back, and the two of them left the room to a round of loud catcalls from their friends.

At the back door, Hermione released her hold on Luna long enough to swing the thick cloak around her shoulders, and Luna grabbed her own from the peg on the wall. They stepped out into a thick swirl of snowflakes. Feeling the effects of her drinks, Hermione stuck her arms out to either side, leaned her head back, and turned a few graceful circles, dancing alone in the snow. Luna stood close to the door, the wind blowing her loose hair to one side across her face, watching Hermione's antics with that mysterious smile on her face again.

Hermione stopped her turns and grabbed Luna's hands, pulling her further out into the yard. With the snow collecting in their hair and lashes, Luna decided that the brunette was too desirable to leave unmolested and leaned in for a sweet, chaste kiss. Hermione leaned into the kiss, keeping it light.

Their eyes fluttered open and lips tore apart at a series of muffled booming noises erupted in the background. Seemingly from nowhere, showers of brightly colored sparks streamed overhead, lighting up the midnight sky. Hermione grinned stupidly. "Fireworks. The Muggle show for the New Year. Must mean it's Midnight." She looked back down at Luna. "Happy New Year." Luna's attention was diverted away from the fireworks and back to Hermione.

"Happy New Year." Their lips met again in a soft, brief kiss. "I think you may not be in the best shape to get me home. Maybe I should just take the Floo."

Hermione pouted slightly at not being able to be the adult and take her girlfriend home. "The Floo system's probably backed up." She thought for a second before snapping her fingers. "I've got it. Kreacher!"

A minute or so passed, the girls standing in the snow, still holding each other by both hands. Kreacher appeared with a light pop.

"Yes, Mistress? What can Kreacher do for you?" He didn't seem to be affected by the cold in the snowy yard.

She felt guilty for waking him up, but he really was the best option. "I'm so sorry to wake you, Kreacher, but I seem to be a little intock… drunk, and Luna is in need of an escort home. She doesn't have her apparition license yet, and I thought the Floo network might be a bit busy just now." She paused to cast a light warming charm on both herself and Luna. "Is there any way you could take her to her home?"

"If that is what Kreacher's Mistress wants, then that is what Kreacher will do." He croaked out the words with a bow.

"Thank you so much Kreacher."

"If Miss Lovegood will just take Kreacher's hand." He offered his hand up to her. Luna kissed Hermione's cheek one last time before releasing her hands and gripping tightly to Kreacher's outstretched one.

"Good night, Hermione. I'll see you back at school?" Her grey eyes were sad-looking.

"Of course. It's only a few more days. Be safe." Hermione was turning more circles in the snow with her arms held out. "Good night, Luna!"

The sound of house-elf apparition stopped her turning, and she went back into the warmth of the kitchen.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Everyone returned to their regular lives after the school term resumed. Coming out to Neville was surprisingly easy; he was shocked at first, and then very accepting of the relationship. The friendship between the four members of their school group grew deeper, as did the closeness of Hermione and Luna.

The next couple of months went by quickly. Valentine's Day had come and gone, neither girl much into the commercial holiday, but the day did see one major revelation: Neville and Ginny had started dating. They seemed to balance each other out well, his steadfast nature playing nicely with her impetuousness. Everyone had assumed that when Ginny revealed a relationship, it would be with Harry, but she denied it, saying that after all the time he spent pushing her away for her safety, treating her like a big brother would, she'd started feeling like his sister.

By the end of April, they were all on edge, none more than Hermione, who was firmly in exam-revision mode. She was finding less and less time to spend with Luna, and it was straining their relationship.

The last Saturday of the month, Hermione showed up for her meeting with Minerva agitated after an argument with Luna. Luna had wanted her to skip her weekly meeting to spend more time with her, and it had shocked Hermione. With everything else that was going on, she thought the other witch had known just how important these meetings were. It was the one time she could truly let her worries about NEWTs go, relax, and have illuminating discussions about Transfiguration and Charms with a witch who was brilliant and knowledgeable in the two fields.

It wasn't that she felt like she had to dumb herself down for her friends; quite the opposite was true, in fact. Luna was astoundingly smart, especially when it came to Magical Creatures, and had an insight into the people around her that was amazing. Ginny was scary in DADA, able to fend off every duelist against whom she'd been paired, including Hermione. She had an arsenal of jinxes that would put some fully-trained Aurors to shame, which was a miracle given how varied her education in the Defense class had been. And Neville? He had seemingly endless knowledge about plants, both the magical and the mundane. Hermione could fully see him teaching Herbology for decades once Professor Sprout decided to retire. They all had their specialties, but none of them included her own.

After being admitted to the Headmistress' chambers by the gargoyle, Hermione found herself alone again. Knowing Minerva would be out momentarily, she collapsed into her normal chair, slouching deeply and rubbing her right hand over her face. The stress of upcoming exams, of the fight with Luna, of months and years of education quickly coming to an end, and of still not knowing what she wanted to do with her life finally caught up to her, and hot tears of frustration started silently streaming down her face.

Minerva came into the room and was surprised to see Hermione slouched so deeply into her chair; she normally had much better posture. Then she noticed the shaking of the young woman's chest and shoulders, though she couldn't see the tears behind Hermione's hand.

Very quietly, she sat in her own chair and poured two cups of tea, fixing one for herself and one for Hermione, having long since learned how she took it. The clink of the spoon against the sides of the cups was the first sound she'd made since entering the room, and upon hearing it, Hermione shot straight up in her chair, dropping her hand, forgetting about her tear-streaked and blotchy face, horrified to have been caught in such a position by her friend and mentor.

Minerva passed her the cup of tea without uttering a word, then summoned a sturdy handkerchief edged with fine lace from her bedroom and handed it over as well. "Take your time, clean yourself up, and drink your tea while it's hot. We'll get to the conversation soon enough." She picked up her own cup of tea and sat back in the chair to sip at it.

Hermione set the cup of tea on the wide arm of the squashy and comfortable chair and used the handkerchief to do as she was bid. Her face straightened out, she picked up the tea and took a warm, comforting sip. As usual, Minerva had gotten her tea perfect. "I'm…"

Minerva put up a hand. "No apologies. I told you nearly a year ago that nobody should ever have to cry alone. There's no shame in it. Tears can be very healing."

"I… then, thank you, Minerva. You're very kind." Hermione was still feeling a little humiliated at being caught crying again, but it was quickly disappearing with every hot sip of tea.

"Is it too soon or indeed, too intrusive to ask what had you in such a state?" Concern was plainly visible in her deep green eyes.

"Just … everything. NEWTs, the final end of my Hogwarts career, what I'm going to do once I leave here, and an argument I had with a," she barely remembered to replace the word girlfriend, "a friend earlier. Everything's building up and building up, and I don't know how to get rid of it all." Her eyes closed again, and she took another sip of her tea. "I think most of it is not knowing what kind of work I want to do. Surely at this point, most students know who they want to be and what they want to do. That bloody counselling meeting was three years ago!"

Minerva's lips were trying desperately not to twitch. "Yes, well, we never did really come to a decision, did we? At least not with Dolores the great pink toad in the room." Her lips were twitching in earnest now, quiet snickers of laughter sneaking out, and Hermione gave in, the loud laughter taking over the anger and angst she'd been feeling.

"No, we never did." She grinned maliciously at the thought that followed. "I wonder if she still twitches and shakes at the sound of hoof beats." This instigated another round of roaring laughter from both witches.

Once they both calmed from poking fun at Umbridge, Minerva posed a question gently while sipping at her tea, "So, are you still as against the Ministry as you were then?"

"With Kingsley in charge, I'm not quite as against the place, but it still seems like not much is getting done. I do want to help people, Minerva, but I don't want to be pigeon-holed into the same boring, repetitive task forever." Hermione was fidgeting with the handkerchief.

"In my seventy-three years on this earth, it has been my experience that every job is to be, as you said, 'pigeon-holed into the same boring, repetitive task forever.' The trick is to find the thing that you _can_ do over and over without getting bored. It may be that some department of the Ministry is in desperate need of someone with your talents and intellect. I wouldn't automatically dismiss it, although there are other options. Have you thought about further education?"

Hermione's ears perked up at this. "There are options for further education?" Her fingers stopped picking at the lace.

Minerva chuckled, "Of course. It's nothing like the Muggle university system where you take courses that don't apply to your chosen field, but you end up with a far more comprehensive knowledge in your Mastery field, and a good deal of knowledge in related fields, learning how you can put the different worlds together in order to create truly marvelous things. Are there any subjects here at Hogwarts to which you feel a particular affinity?"

Hermione thought for a moment before carefully answering, "I don't think I would want to pursue a further education in Care of Magical Creatures. Although I do care about the welfare of other intelligent races, such as the house-elves, centaurs, goblins, and werewolves, there are many other creatures out there that I have no interest in." Minerva nodded with the assessment, and Hermione continued. "I do admit that I love Arithmancy, and am quite good at it, but it's something I'd like to keep as a casual habit instead of as a job. I think that would suck much of the fun out of it. Ancient Runes can be useful in other fields, but I don't think I have much interest in them beyond that. Divination is rubbish, plain and simple, and Astronomy is a little too closely related to hold much interest for me.

"Potion-making is a brilliantly subtle science, and while I definitely enjoy brewing, I learned from seeing Professor Snape's notes from his sixth-year textbook that all I will ever be as a brewer is one who can take a set of instructions and follow them to the letter. I would never have thought to deviate from the listed methodology like he did. I was and am too afraid of the catastrophic failures that can all too easily take place from doing things in anything other than the described steps.

"I know that I am a competent duelist, and can and always will rise to the occasion to defend myself and my loved ones from attack, but I feel like in order to truly study the Defense against Dark Arts, you should have a comprehensive knowledge of the Dark Arts themselves, and I have no interest in that. In Neville, I have seen what it's like to be in love with Herbology, and I have a thumb that is far from green.

"The only two subjects that really get my brain going, and in which I feel I could truly excel as a researcher are Transfiguration and Charms. I feel like the two are quite tightly intertwined, and you can correct my suppositions if I'm wrong, but if I could pursue a Mastery in both, I feel like that would be the ideal situation. If I had to choose between the two," she paused to frown for a moment, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip, "I honestly don't know which one I'd pick. It would be a very difficult decision, requiring a long bout of deliberation and consultation." She looked at Minerva's face, trying to gauge her response, but her features were giving nothing away. "Does anyone ever pursue a double Mastery?"

Minerva's response was slow and measured, belying her inner excitement at Hermione's response. "It happens from time to time, but it's not very common. To achieve even one Mastery is difficult and expensive, and most people simply don't possess the ability to achieve that level of education. If any of my recent students could do it, however, I believe it could be you." The pride she felt for her prize student couldn't be hidden behind her stoicism at the last statement.

Hermione was greatly pleased to see the pride on her mentor's face, but as her words ran back through Hermione's mind, she became fixated on one word in particular. "How expensive is it to pursue a Mastery?"

"That's a complicated question. It depends on who your Master or Mistress is, the field, and on your OWL and NEWT scores in the desired course. I believe the current flat rate for either Transfiguration or Charms is one thousand galleons per year, but with your scores, talent, and your name, it could get very low indeed, depending on who you choose to train under."

Hermione frowned at the mention of using her name to reduce the cost of apprenticeship. Sensing the source of her discomfort, Minerva continued, "I know you'd like to get by on your name strictly for your academic prowess, but my dear girl, your name is already quite-well known for other reasons, and you won't be able to avoid that recognition. You might as well use it to your benefit."

Hermione sighed. "I guess you're right. A thousand galleons though." She exhaled, her breath leaving her lungs in a loud whoosh. "That's a lot of money, and I'm assuming that's per course, so if I did go for both, it would be two thousand galleons. Per year. Might as well be a million." She slouched back into her chair, the rush she'd felt at hearing about the opportunities vanishing without a trace, visibly deflating her.

Watching the emotions play out on Hermione's face, Minerva was hit with a memory.

"_My investments are growing exponentially, and my vault is quite healthy. You are listed on my account as having access, and here's your key. Keep it safe, Min. I trust you not to rob me blind on a whim, and I fully expect that you'll never use the access I've granted you. However, if the occasion arises, feel free to take however much is necessary. Maybe one of these years, you'll have a student in great need of money for an apprenticeship. You'll know when the time comes." _

_Minerva's fingers gripped the small key, and Morgan's hand reached over to tilt her head up, forcing her lover to look into her eyes. "And if the time ever comes that you truly think I am dead or gone, know that the vault's entire contents are for you. You are the other half of my heart, Min, and no matter what else you may come to believe about me while I am away, it beats and bleeds only for you."_

_A tear fell slowly down the turn of Minerva's nose as she kissed Morgan lightly on the cheek before moving to hover her lips over Morgan's, answering the only way she knew how, "Tá mo chroí freisin istigh ionat." It came out a whisper followed by the crashing together of their lips in a passionate kiss. _

Blushing lightly at what had come after the kiss, she was unaware that her stoic mask had fallen while she was lost in the memory, and Hermione had been fascinated with how soft and tender Minerva's face had grown. The color appearing on the high cheekbones only added to the fascination, and Hermione's eyes were drawn down Minerva's form, noticing for the first time tonight that Minerva was again out of her heavy robes. She was in another Oxford shirt, this time in a deep red, and her trousers were a dark brown. The clothes suited her well, Hermione thought.

Minerva was still distracted, toying with ring on her right hand, and something she'd said earlier popped back into Hermione's head. _Seventy-three years._ She couldn't be that old, could she? Her hair had no hint of grey, still as black as the darkest ink she used for writing. There were a few wrinkles around her eyes and lips, but certainly not what you would expect from someone in their seventies. In her normal robes, it was hard to make out, but in her relaxed clothes, Hermione could tell that she was still quite physically fit; soft where it counted, but with hard muscles in her arms and legs.

She was reminded of the morning after the battle last May when she'd clung to Minerva in that desperate hug, and she remembered how slim and firm her waist had been. She might be in her early seventies, chronologically speaking, but if she passed a Muggle woman on the street who looked like Minerva, Hermione would have guessed she was perhaps in her forties.

Thinking about that hug made her think about the urge she'd felt to kiss Minerva, and a blush rose to her cheeks, matching the one the older witch still bore at the memories of Morgan she was reliving. Minerva lifted her cup and took a sip of tea, and Hermione, stuck in that train of thought, watched as her lips captured the rim of the cup, wondering what it would be like if those same lips were to capture her own and coax them open.

Hermione was blushing furiously at this point, and made herself think of anything but Minerva kissing her. _Come on, Granger! Pull it together! This is inappropriate, and what's more, it's total fantasy! Minerva's certainly not interested in girls or anything like that, especially with you. Now calm down and breathe and get over it. Now!_

Straightening out her mind, she cleared her throat softly, and the noise brought Minerva out of her memory and back to the present.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Hermione. I seem to have disappeared for a moment there. It's one of the drawbacks of being as old as I am." She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts. _You'll know when the time comes._ Minerva thought the time had, indeed, finally come. "We were discussing the Mastery process, weren't we, and your belief that you can't afford it?"

The last vestiges of kissing-thoughts fled. "Yeah," she replied curtly.

"What if I were to say that it wouldn't be a problem?"

Hermione's eyes widened, and she found herself incapable of speech.

"I have a friend who left me with access to her sizable vault at Gringotts, and she told me once that if I ever had a student in dire need of an apprenticeship but found themselves unable to pay for it, I should feel free to take care of things with her money. I'm even in touch with several Masters of both fields, and I'm sure any of them would be honored to take you on after your NEWT scores come back. Indeed, I rather think a few of them would take you even without NEWTs."

Hermione sputtered out, "But Minerva, I couldn't… There's no way I could … It's quite … Oh, Merlin." She shut her mouth quickly lest she started gaping like a fish.

Minerva's laughter rang through the room, "It's quite alright, Hermione. I can attest that your apprenticeships won't make the slightest dent in the contents of her vault if it's anything like she described, and that was twenty years ago. I think I'm making the right decision here, and I hope you'll accept the offer."

Hermione finally regained her ability to speak coherently. "Only if you promise to allow me to pay it back."

"I don't think that's strictly necessary, but if you feel so strongly about it, I'll agree. We'll work out a repayment schedule some time after it's all over with. Is that agreeable to you?" Minerva was amused, and for once, it showed. She hadn't bothered to put her stoic mask back on after getting lost in her memory.

"Yes, that's fine with me. Thank you so much, Minerva. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here. Our meetings keep me going through the hard parts of my week, and now you're making my future possible. I don't know what to say other than thanks, both to you and to your generous friend." Hermione was completely in awe of the woman sitting across from her. In that moment, she became a goddess in Hermione's mind.

Minerva had always embodied a certain amount of "this is who I should strive to be like" for Hermione, and just then, she became an untouchable, unflappable, perfect example of who Hermione wanted to be when she reached that age. The only flaw Hermione could see in her was the fact that, according to every source she had, Minerva had never had a great love, and Hermione was determined to have that as well if she lived as long as Minerva.

They parted that night, Hermione with a list of Transfiguration and Charms Masters to contact about her apprenticeship, and Minerva with a head full of memories trying to burst forth.

=======================HG/MM=======================

I have no idea if it snowed in London on New Year's Eve 1998. All the sources I can find say probably not, but I liked the idea of it snowing for the scene, so I took creative liberties. My apologies. I try to be as accurate with these things as I can, but sometime the almighty Google fails me. And I'm certain that the fireworks show isn't visible from all parts of London, but I've taken liberties with that, too. Didn't it make a lovely scene?

* 30 GBP for the Whiskey, 20 for the Vodka, which is 10 Galleons. I assumed a price of about 6 Sickles for each Butterbeer, which would have made the total 17 Galleons, 8 Sickles. Tom cheated her by adding in a sizeable tip, which she paid without question.

Saviari Interruptus - Rough Latin for an Interrupted Erotic Kiss. My own uneducated play on Coitus Interruptus, to which they had not gotten. Terribly sorry if it's conjugated incorrectly or whatever. I don't speak Latin. At all. Sometimes, as with the weather thing, my Google-fu fails me.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.

Alright, to help explain my thoughts on the aging process of Witches and Wizards, I'm dragging out a little algebra. Don't worry, it's easy enough to grasp. I did get a PM or two asking how a 73-year old Witch could appear to be in her 40s, though, so here's the formula I use to figure physical age versus chronological age.

x – 17 = (y – 17) / 2

Where y = Chronological Age and x = Physical Age.

If given y, you should be able to get x (or actually, vice-versa). The theory behind it is this: Witches and Wizards are rarer in the world than Muggles. Therefore, they're given longer lifespans. This is most easily seen in Albus Dumbledore, who was roughly 150 years old when he died. He didn't really _look_ 150, though, did he? He did look extremely old, but perhaps no more than a Muggle in his 80s. So let's plug 150 into our formula for y, and we get that x is 83.5, which means that he appears to be around 83 or 84, which seems reasonable given the way he looks.

How did I come up with this formula? It's pretty simple. Wizards develop normally at first, until the age that the average teenager stops growing and physically developing: 17. For seventeen years, they age as we Muggles do. After that, they age at half-rate, so one year of development per two years of life. So then you take Chronological age, subtract the 17 years they aged normally, divide by two, then add the 17 years back in, and you get their Physical age. So, given that Minerva is 73 in the early part of 1999 (she hasn't had her birthday yet), we take 73, subtract 17 (56), divide by 2 (28), then add those 17 years back in, and you get 45 for her Physical Age. (The formula does the same thing if you work it out, but maybe just doing it this way is easier for you. Algebraic formulae have tripped up some of the smartest people I know.)

This method may not work for anyone else or their stories. Maybe in some stories, you need Witches and Wizards to age the same as Muggles, and that's great! However, in SWTT, as well as in any of my MM/HG stories (and let's be fair, probably in any of my future stories, no matter the pairing), this will be the way things are, because I've sort of adopted it as headcanon. (If I've inadvertently taken this from one of your stories, please let me know and I will duly credit you. I'm fairly certain I haven't done so, but I've read so much fanfic that it's hard to know sometimes.)

Of course, due to circumstances in each individual life, as with us Muggles, some people age faster or slower anyway, but in general, it's x – 17 = (y – 17) / 2.

And now, back to our story. I've used enough words on this. :)

This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Hermione woke the next morning refreshed and ready to take on the world. She wrote letters to each of the names on Minerva's list, each letter similar to the first, changing only the subject involved from Transfiguration to Charms.

_Master Piliwickle,_

_My name is Hermione Granger, and I was given your name by Hogwarts' Headmistress Minerva McGonagall as someone who might be interested in allowing me to become your Apprentice in Transfiguration this coming autumn. I am scheduled to take my NEWTs in June, and achieved eleven OWLs, including an Outstanding in Transfiguration. I fully expect to receive the same mark on my Transfiguration NEWT, as does Headmistress McGonagall. _

_If the prospect of taking me on as your Apprentice is acceptable, I would like to receive from you a schedule of your standard course, along with an estimate of the cost for which I would be responsible, so that I can forward that to my financial Benefactress. _

_Thank you for your consideration,_

_Hermione Granger,  
__Order of Merlin, First Class,  
__Student, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Then she wrote a seventh letter, this time to Harry, asking if he would be okay putting her up for a while longer after school let out. She had a lot to take care of over the summer, and trying to find a flat of her own would only take up time she didn't think she would have. She was sure he wouldn't mind, but she didn't want to just assume and have things end up awkward.

The seven letters sent via owl post, she was left to contemplate the other stresses in her life. NEWTs were coming up, and while that was certainly a big concern, she knew that even if she stopped revising and studying right then, she would get the marks she wanted. She could have sat the exams on Monday and passed with flying colors. She was always going to worry about them until they were over and the results handed back, but she was confident enough to know that she would get out of them what she needed.

She was in the process of figuring out what she wanted to do with her life, and had begun the process of getting it started with the letters. The only major stress she had left on her list was Luna.

She sighed, sinking into her window seat to gaze out over the Forbidden Forest. She remembered her words to Harry in December. _It's really good, Harry. Easy._ But it wasn't so easy anymore. The times they were alone together, the physical part was still good, but there was something missing. There had been a calmness to their relationship at first, an ability to sit quietly in a room and study or read without it being awkward, without an incessant need to touch and be touched. Over the last few months, Hermione had definitely awakened as a sexual being, and it felt great to be intimately close with Luna, to sit and hold her hand, to kiss her whenever the mood struck, to sink her tongue or fingers into deep warm places. But there was more to life than sex, and more and more, it seemed like that's all Luna wanted.

All the physical intimacy in the world couldn't compare to the soft silences they had shared at first, to quiet nights in front of the fire, reading or studying.

That train of thought led Hermione to start contemplating how she truly felt about Luna. Did she love her, or did she only like her? She was attracted to her, certainly, but attraction and sexual desire didn't equal love. She brought her knees up, wrapped her arms around them, and rested her cheek on her knee, still looking out the window. If this was a case of only attraction and desire, was it worth keeping the relationship going if it was only going to continue to cause stress and unrest in her life? She didn't want to lose her friend, but she wanted the ease and comfort that they shared before to return. She wanted her friend back instead of her lover.

A single tear rolled from the corner of her eye down to soak into the denim of her jeans. Her mind had made itself up, and she knew she was going to hurt Luna with her decision, but she didn't love her, and to keep stringing her along would be cruel, and difficult on both of them. The tear was quickly followed by more, and she sat in her window seat for most of an hour, softly crying over the coming conversation.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Hermione finally left her window seat and went to take a long shower. The hot water streaming over her body washed away the tears, and the water pressure gently pounded against her back, trying to massage her tensions away. She spent much of the shower thinking about all the horrible ways the conversation with Luna could go, and despite the hard work of the shower jets, she left the shower clean, but still filled with tension.

After dinner in the Great Hall, Hermione asked Luna to come up to her room.

Once inside, Hermione sat on one end of the settee and Luna sat on the other, the two girls turning to face each other. She started to explain, but before she could get a word out, Luna's finger pressed against her lips, silencing her words.

"I think I know why we're here. I guess I've seen this coming for a while." She dropped her hand back to her lap and lowered her head.

"I'm so sorry, Luna. I don't really know what to say." Hermione lowered her head as well, and both girls sat staring at their hands, fidgeting nervously. "I don't want to lose the friendship we had, but I don't love you that way, and it would be unfair to you to keep going the way we have been when I know that."

Luna smiled sadly, "I knew you were never meant to be mine. I knew it the first time you kissed me. I've known it the entire time we've been together, but I wanted it so badly that I ignored myself for once." She inhaled shakily before continuing, "I told you, actually, the first time we kissed, that I felt like I was more of an experiment while you were coming to terms with possibly being gay, and I still feel like that was true, to an extent. You needed to know what it was like to be with a girl, and I was around and fit the bill."

Hermione was gaping at Luna, unwilling to accept what she was saying.

Luna's hand reached up to cup Hermione's cheek, cutting off the gaping look. "Don't take it the wrong way, darling, I don't feel as though I was used in any way, and I know you don't feel like you used me. That's not how it was. But we were never meant to be, and I'm at peace with that now."

Hermione stood and began pacing, her hands tightly grasping at her elbows behind her back. "You _knew_ this was going to happen? You _knew_ we weren't meant to be? You're at _peace_? What does that even mean, Luna? I wanted to be with you because I wanted to be with _you_! It wasn't because I just needed to be with any girl and you were here! That's not who I am!" By the end, she was screeching.

She paced back and forth in furious silence for a minute before speaking again, her voice cold fury, "So you don't think I used you. Great. But since you knew from the very beginning that it wouldn't last, and that it was only ever meant to be short-term, I kind of feel like you used me. You wanted something from me that you _knew_ you'd never have, so, what, you just decided to _settle_ for a _piece_ of me? I can't talk to you right now. Please leave."

She stalked through her bedroom door and slammed it behind her before beginning to pace in front of the fireplace in there. She couldn't sit still, but the monotony of pacing was starting to get to her. She opened her wardrobe and pulled out a pair of her sleeping shorts and transfigured them into something a bit thicker, skin-tight, and long enough to just reach her knees. The thin tee-shirt had its sleeves removed, turning it into a tight racer-back tank top. She also transfigured her sensible but pretty bra into a tightly fitted sports bra with the same back as the tank to hide the straps. She quickly changed into these makeshift workout clothes, slipped into her trainers, and threw a long cloak over it all to cover herself until she got outside.

She was glad to see Luna had left when she went through the sitting room, and she made her way down to the Quidditch pitch, which she was glad to see unoccupied. Throwing her cloak to the ground, she magicked her hair up into a tight bun, stuck her wand into it for safe-keeping, and began to run laps around the pitch.

She started at a fast walk and slowly increased the pace until she was running at a comfortable speed, keeping that pace going for the endurance. She had a lot of running to do if she was going to work all this out.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Hours later, she was lying on her back on the edge of the pitch, breaths quick and shallow from exertion. She had begun to reach her limits and started the slow-down, and once she'd reached walking speed, she'd collapsed to the ground, trying to regain her breath. The grass was cool on her heated body, and the stars were out, shining brightly in the dark sky.

Hermione had tried very hard during her run not to think about the situation with Luna, but thoughts had crept in anyway. She was still angry about the prospect of having been used, but she knew the anger would fade in time. Of all the ways she'd dreamt the conversation could go, that was perhaps the one she didn't think of during her shower. She chuckled breathlessly at the thought. The blonde witch was still surprising Hermione at every turn.

She stood, groaning a bit at the soreness already creeping in. She thought she would probably feel the effects of the exercise the next day, but it had been completely worth the aftermath. She felt lighter and better than she had in weeks. Searching the dark ground for her cloak, she gave up and summoned it with her wand. She was still too hot to want it on, and she doubted anyone was still awake to see her in her running attire, so she draped it over her left arm, keeping her wand in her dominant right hand.

She walked slowly to the front doors of the castle, and was surprised when they didn't open as she approached as they normally did. Moving her wand to her left hand, she placed the right against one of the massive oak doors, pressing lightly and then with more strength, stamping her foot crossly when it still refused to open. She couldn't think of any spells that would open the doors magically without blasting them open, which was an unacceptable situation.

She plopped down onto the stone steps leading up to the doors, trying to figure a way to get in. Casting a quick _Tempus_, she was surprised to see that it was after midnight; she had run a lot longer than she thought. _No wonder the doors are locked for the night._ She was thinking she might walk down to Hagrid's hut and wake him to see about getting in, but didn't want to disturb him.

She was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, inwardly debating on going to Hagrid, when she heard one of the doors creak open behind her. She jumped to her feet, wand in hand, the cloak still draped over her left arm, and spun around to face the intruder.

"I should have known it was you, Miss Granger," breathed the sleep-addled voice of the school's Headmistress. "Come along then, and we won't discuss punishment, as I was the only one awakened."

She could see Minerva standing in the doorway and relaxed her stance. The older witch was in her traditional outer robes, but her hair was down from its bun, and the long braid had taken its place again, snaking down across one shoulder to her waist. The braid was slightly more disheveled tonight than it had been the last time Hermione had seen it, and she felt bad for having woken her mentor from her sleep.

Taking her cue from Minerva on formality, she apologized as she stepped toward the doors. "I'm so sorry, Professor. I was out running on the Quidditch pitch and lost track of time."

Hermione stepped into the low lights of the Entrance Hall, where Minerva could finally fully see what she was wearing, and she gasped, now fully awake. The shorts and tank top were soaked with sweat, and plastered to her body, revealing every curve, all of which were flushed from the night's activities. "Running, you said?" Minerva squeaked out.

"Mm, yes. I was working out the last of my frustrations from last night." Hermione shifted her cloak over to her right arm, reaching up with the left to try and smooth some of the flyaway hairs back into place. "I sent out letters to the six Masters you recommended today. Do you think I should hear back from them before my NEWT scores are in, or after?" Her hair sorted, she moved the cloak back over to her left arm.

She had no idea the effect she was having on the older witch. Minerva had nearly choked when she'd raised her arm. She barely pulled herself together long enough to spell the door closed and locked, and cleared her throat loudly. "I think you're as likely to hear from them before as after. Your name is worth quite a lot, but don't worry if you don't get an acceptance from all of them. They may already have an apprentice I don't know about, or they might not have time to take anyone on right now. If you don't get an offer you like, we can – ah – find other options." She stuttered when Hermione bent down to pick up the cloak that had fallen off her arm during their conversation. "You might want to slip that cloak on, Miss Granger. It's unlikely that we'll encounter anyone else on the way up, but it's best to be prepared."

Hermione sighed. "Of course, Professor. I thought I might be too hot, but I can cast a cooling charm under it to help." She swung it around her shoulders and buttoned it up, casting the charm once everything was secured.

Minerva took a deep breath. _It'll keep my mind where it belongs, too. Merlin, I don't know what's wrong with me. I haven't had a reaction like that to anyone since Morgan. It must be the memories I stirred up last night._ "I'll walk you up in case you encounter someone else who won't be so lenient with you for being out so far past curfew." She gestured toward the staircases, and the two witches set out at an unhurried pace.

"So, do you often run to release your frustrations? I can't say I've ever seen you like this before." Minerva's cat nature was taking over, and she was curious.

"No, not very often at all, actually. I just," she paused lightly before deciding to move on with her story, "I think I mentioned last night I'd had an argument with a friend. We resolved the argument earlier, but I was left with some leftover anger, and pacing in front of my fire just wasn't doing the job." She shrugged. "I needed more."

They climbed in silence for a moment. "How did you know to open the door? I was debating on whether to go wake Hagrid to get in when the door opened on its own. I was quite surprised."

"After the doors are locked for the night, a teacher may get in by touching the door, but if a student tries the same, the Headmaster or Headmistress is notified by the school. If anyone else touched the door in an effort to get in, or if any kind of jinx or hex is cast at the door, the school treats them as an intruder and knocks them backward before alerting not only myself, but also every teacher currently in residence." Her lips twitched slightly. "Be glad you didn't attempt to get in magically. The school tossing you out on your arse isn't very pleasant."

Hermione laughed, both at the comment and at the mild language used. "That isn't something they put in Hogwarts, a History."

"No, it's not something we advertise, especially as the same trick works on the outer gates. Thank goodness Severus was really on our side. Wards or no, he could have let Voldemort in at any time." Minerva yawned quietly as they reached the seventh floor landing. "I think you may be trusted with the information though. Just don't go turning into a Dark Lady so you can use it against us." She winked slyly, and Hermione laughed.

"Not much chance of that. The Dark holds no appeal for me."

"The Dark can be tempting. There is much good that can be done with some spells labeled as "Dark", but most people twist them for their darker purposes. You can't just write off the Dark as bad and say you'll never use it, because we all make those choices in life, but you have to make a conscious decision to never use the dark spells you learn – and you will learn some, Hermione, don't think you won't – you just have to use them for the right reasons and not the bad ones."

They reached Hermione's portrait-door and stopped. "I was joking with the Dark Lady remark, but it's a choice we all make at some point, whether to be a force for good or bad. You may think you've made your ultimate choice, but until your final day is spent, you will make that choice again and again, over and over, and every time it gets more difficult to choose the harder path of Light rather than the easier path of the Dark." Minerva reached out to grab Hermione's wrist tightly. "Keep making the choice for Light, Hermione. I, for one, would never want to fight against you."

Hermione was finding it hard to speak, but managed to croak out, "I'll do my best, Minerva. I promise."

"Good girl." She released Hermione's wrist. "Now get in there and get some sleep. You have classes in a few hours."

"Yes, Professor." She turned toward her door, before adding without looking back, "And Minerva? You do the same. I have this feeling that if you ever chose the Dark, I'd go with you. That scares me." She opened the door and stepped inside. "Good night."

Minerva's throat had closed up, and as Hermione was still facing away from her, she reached out to squeeze her shoulder through the thick cloak before withdrawing and walking toward her own rooms.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Hermione took a quick shower and then settled in for a fitful night's sleep. Her mind kept poring over the conversation with Minerva, and she was terrified. She meant what she'd said at the last. Minerva had become such a strong force in her life for what was right and good and for who she should strive to emulate. If the Scottish witch ever did turn to the Dark, Hermione honestly believed that her reasons would be true and valid, and she would follow her without question.

She didn't know if she could say the same for even Harry. It was true that they'd faced much darkness in their year on the hunt for Horcruxes, and that damn locket had made her feel a thirst for forbidden knowledge, and she'd known Harry and especially Ron felt its draw as well, but if she'd thought Harry was truly turning to the Dark, she would have taken the Horcrux and run far away from him; if the Ministry and Voldemort's lackeys couldn't find her, certainly Harry-bloody-Potter wouldn't have been able to.

She had even begun to question Dumbledore's methods since his death, suspecting that the Dark had touched him deeply at some point. His notions of what he was doing for "the greater good" were suspect to her, and her fears had been realized when they'd found out Harry had to die. That he'd come back afterward was completely inconsequential. There was no way Dumbledore could have known that they would figure out all his cryptic clues in time. Harry could have ended up dying and not coming back, and then they would have all died rather than falling to their knees before the snake-faced bastard.

That little voice in the back of her head began whispering that if she'd seen Minerva fall to her knees and kiss the hem of his robes, she might've done the same, even before they'd forged this tentative friendship over the year since the Battle. She might have capitulated and tried to live under his tyranny… if she'd seen Minerva do it first. Such was the depth of her influence over Hermione.

It frightened her to a depth she hadn't known existed. Why was Minerva McGonagall so important to her? She didn't know; couldn't put a finger on the reason.

She tossed and turned, unable to escape the thoughts all night. Finally, at half-six, she gave up and got out of the bed to face her day, tired and restless.

=======================HG/MM=======================

The worries finally subsided, taken over by her anxiety over the upcoming NEWTs. She saw her friends very little, in full-stop revision mode. Harry had replied to her letter, saying that she could stay with him forever if she wanted, and not to worry about it. Kreacher needed more people to care for anyway. She had dismissed the letter and its contents, her studies taking over even her concerns about the future. It was all in the future, after all, and the NEWTs were an immediate concern.

All the Masters and Mistresses she'd written replied in the affirmative, willing to take her on pending her NEWT scores, but for one of the Charms Masters, who was currently apprenticing two others and just didn't have the time to spare for her.

Again, she let the offers roll off her back, stashing the letters away for later examination, after making sure none of them required an immediate response.

It was only after the last exam was over that she took half a moment to breathe. Her hair had gone as wild as it had been in her first year from so many nights spent poring over textbooks and notes, and so few spent in her bed. Even those few nights, she was too exhausted to worry about caring for her hair the way she'd become accustomed. She'd forgotten so many meals that she'd lost several pounds, and her skin was pale from lack of proper nutrition and sunlight.

The first thing she did after that last exam was take a long soak in her private bathtub, carefully washing her hair and casting several detangling charms at it; it took so many because just one didn't get rid of them all, nor did the second or the third. It took five times before it was manageable enough to get a comb through to finish the job. Finally, her hair was back to something she could at least braid. Its texture hadn't quite come back to the silky softness it had reached before, but as with her skin and the weight, a few good nutrition potions from Madam Pomfrey, and a week of sleeping and eating well and on a regular basis took care of that.

=======================HG/MM=======================

It was two weeks after NEWTs were finished, and Hermione was starting to fret over her results. She was sitting in the Great Hall, picking through her breakfast when a rush of owls started dropping scrolls for other seventh year NEWT students. It appeared that everyone got theirs except Hermione. Her face fell, and fear began to take over. She'd received Trolls for each exam. _Oh god, oh god, oh god. I've failed everything. Minerva's going to come get me and tell me I've failed everything and I'll be a waste of a witch and they're going to snap my wand because I'm too stupid to even stay in the Wizarding world as a Squib. Oh god, oh god, oh god._ She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up fearfully, gulping when she saw that it was, indeed, Minerva.

"So it's true. I've failed everything." She started sobbing, burying her head in her hands.

"Of course you haven't. Now calm down, stand up, and come with me." Minerva barked out in her best Headmistress McGonagall voice. Hermione didn't move, her sobs growing louder. "_Now_, Miss Granger!" She snapped.

Hermione's tears stopped abruptly and she stared up at Minerva for a moment. A sharply raised eyebrow later, Hermione was standing in front of her, waiting for further instruction. "Come with me," she sighed, and began to walk toward the room behind the High Table. Hermione dumbly followed behind her, still living her worst nightmare in her mind. _I'm too stupid. I've received all Trolls. They're going to snap my wand and send me back to the Muggle world. I've failed everything. I've failed at being a Witch. I don't belong here and I never will. _

Once inside the small room, Minerva closed the door, and had to lead Hermione to a chair and force her to sit by pressing on her shoulders and snapping out the word "Sit!"

"Now we're alone. Hermione, I need you to snap out of this and listen to me." Minerva sat in a chair across from Hermione, but the younger witch was still trapped in her own doubts and fears. She really didn't want to do it, but circumstances being what they were, she had no choice. She closed her eyes and breathed in and out once, twice, three times, then raised her hand and slapped Hermione across the cheek – briskly, but not too hard, and yelled "Hermione. PAY ATTENTION!"

The combination of the slap and the yell was enough to finally break Hermione out of her own mind, and she brought her hand up to her reddening cheek. "Minerva? What's …? Why did you slap me?"

Minerva almost rolled her eyes, but was able to hold her impulse back. "You weren't listening to me. You did not fail your exams. Now, are you quite present?"

"I… yes. I'm sorry. Have I put on a big spectacle?" Hot tears were forming in her eyes at the thought of humiliation.

"No, not at all. I doubt anyone else noticed at all."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, closing her eyes to rid them of tears before they started falling. "Why didn't I get my results like everyone else, Minerva? Were they truly that bad?" She opened her eyes and searched Minerva's for hints. She saw them soften along with Minerva's face.

"No, child. They were sent to me because they were so good." Minerva saw relief flood through her prize pupil. "For the first time – not just in a long time, Hermione, but for the first time ever – they had to have another set of examiners go over your results because they were absolutely perfect. Every exam." She pulled out a thick scroll, tied with a heavy blue ribbon, and handed it over to Hermione, who had seemingly gone dumb again.

She asked, "Are you still with me?"

"I … perfect? Perfect? I got perfect scores."

Minerva chuckled lightly, "Yes, Hermione. Perfect. Even on the Muggle Studies exam, even though you haven't taken the class since your third year. Eleven absolutely perfect NEWTs." She paused for a moment, tears coming to her eyes. "I am so proud of you, Hermione. Even Albus and I didn't get perfect scores, and neither of us sat for eleven of them. Nobody – not a single Pureblood, Half-Blood, or Muggle-born has ever received perfect marks on every NEWT they sat for. Nobody. Except you.

"The reason your scroll is so thick is because it's filled with job offers from virtually every department in the Ministry, and several from private organizations outside of the Ministry. There isn't a job out there you can't do, if that's what you want."

Hermione laughed through her joyful tears, "Except those to do with Divination. Or Professional Quidditch Player."

Minerva joined in her laughter, "Oh, I think you'd be surprised at how many people would offer you a job even in those fields if that's what you wanted to do. Are you still decided on pursuing the Masteries?"

Hermione nodded furiously. "Oh, yes. Now more than ever. Will you help me go through the offers and pick the best one? I admit I haven't given them the proper consideration with all my worrying about exams, but now that weight's finally, firmly off my back for good, it's time to start thinking about it."

"Of course I will. We have a meeting scheduled for tonight. Bring the letters then and we'll get it all sorted. But there's something they've asked me to do first, if you're agreeable."

Hermione looked immediately suspicious, and Minerva laughed. "It's nothing so bad as that look would have you believe. I just need to take you out to the podium and announce your scores to the student body before breakfast is over."

Hermione looked horrified, knowing that her face must look frightful after her emotional outbursts. "I can't… I look… I … can't." Sentences were beyond her grasp.

"You got perfect scores on eleven NEWTs, and you're worried about how you look." Minerva laughed at her again. "At least that's something we can take care of with ease. Come here." She pulled Hermione to her feet and took a good look at her face. "The only thing we need worry about is the slap mark on your cheek. The rest of you looks beautiful as always." Hermione blushed lightly at the compliment, but then hissed in pain when Minerva cast _Episkey_ to repair the swollen and bruising cheek. "I'm so sorry. I must have hit you a little harder than I thought I did." She put her hands on Hermione's chin and moved her face back and forth to inspect her work. "There. Now you're quite back to normal. Ready?"

"Not really," Hermione grumbled.

"Ah well, too bad, because breakfast is drawing to a close and we have no more time. Come along." Minerva began to briskly walk toward the door, and Hermione reluctantly followed. Minerva walked up behind the great podium, gesturing for Hermione to stand to her right.

"_Sonorus_," she whispered. Her next words were magically amplified so that every student could hear. "Good morning, everyone. I know all our seventh-year students are excited to receive their NEWT scores," she saw a couple faces downturned over their opened parchments, "or maybe some of you are not so excited." The students laughed gaily as she delivered the line without a hint of a smile, looking down over her glasses at the room's occupants.

"However, I am pleased to have been tasked with delivering some wonderful news to you this morning, so bear with me for one moment, and you can all get back to what you were doing." She paused again, briefly, to take in a breath and glance over to make sure Hermione was doing well being up in front of everyone. "As happy or sad as you all may be over your scores, one student has a particular reason to celebrate this morning. Miss Hermione Granger, one of our returning students known to you all, has received eleven perfect NEWTs; the highest scores ever recorded in the history of Hogwarts. Please join me in a round of applause to congratulate her on this astonishing accomplishment!"

The room swelled with applause, every teacher and student standing and clapping furiously, some choosing to whistle loudly in with the applause. She heard Neville's voice cheering, calling out her name gleefully, and from the end of the Ravenclaw table, she saw Luna clapping harder than anyone, happy tears streaming down her face.

One by one, the Professors rounded the table and formed a line along the front of it toward Hermione. Professor Flitwick, the diminutive Charms teacher, reached her first, and touched her arm to gain her attention. She spun around, and he gave her an enthusiastic handshake, gripping her right hand with both of his, saying "Congratulations, Miss Granger. I knew you could do it!" before moving on. Next was Professor Sprout, the earthy Herbology teacher, who gave her similar sentiments with a warm hug. Then came Alice Oaks, the new Muggle Studies teacher who had never had the pleasure of teaching Hermione, and thus didn't know her well. She gave a quick, but warm handshake and a whispered "Congratulations," and moved on. Professor Bathsheba Babbling, who taught Ancient Runes, gave yet another handshake, along with the cryptic "Raidho", which was a rune used in her class. Hermione couldn't remember the deeper meanings, but thought it might have something to do with the journey of life, which was appropriate, she supposed.

Professor Matthew Sutton, her newest Transfiguration teacher, gave her a brisk handshake with a curt "Congratulations." Professor Aurora Sinistra, the new head of Slytherin House, and Hermione's Astronomy teacher, was next with a brief handshake and no words. Slytherin and Gryffindor would always be at odds, it seemed.

Next, she received a crushing hug from Hagrid, who was crying loudly into his large yellow handkerchief and couldn't speak. Septima Vector, who taught Arithmancy, one of Hermione's favorite subjects, gave her a brief hug and a warm smile with her own "Congratulations, dear", and Marcus Stroulger, the new Potions Master and former Ravenclaw, gave her a warm handshake and said that it had been a pleasure to teach her that year.

There were two teachers left: Trelawney, and Professor Packard Piliwickle, the newest Defense teacher. He was cousin to one of the Transfiguration Masters she had written, and the new Head of Gryffindor since Minerva had been elected to the Headmistress position. Trelawney drifted past Hermione without a gesture or a word, which wasn't very surprising as the two had never gotten along. Hermione snickered quietly as the scent of sherry and incense wafted through in her aftermath. Piliwickle, the last in line, gave her a vigorous handshake and winked, saying that his cousin was very much hoping she would accept his offer. She told him she hadn't made her decision yet, but that his cousin's chance was as good as the others from which she'd received responses. He looked pleased with that, and returned to his seat.

Finally, only Minerva was left, and like the other teachers who had shaped Hermione's academic career, she moved to give Hermione a warm hug, but winked and pointed at her throat, not saying a word while still under the microphone charm.

The parade of teachers had taken only a couple minutes, and the students were still applauding and cheering for their classmate, and for one of the Heroines of the War. Not everyone knew her, but everyone knew who she was, and they were mostly all proud of her. She turned back to face them and cast her own _Sonorus_. "Thank you."

The applause started dying down so they could hear what she had to say. "Thank you all. I can't tell you what it means to have this kind of support on such a happy day. I always hoped for these kinds of results, but never dared think I would actually get them. It's made my seven years within these Hallowed Halls well worth it, and in the end, made the year I had to skip worth all the hardship, sacrifice, and darkness we had to endure to make it through. Harry, Ron, and I suffered a great deal to put an end to Voldemort, and it was worth it all the second his dark smudge was removed from our green Earth, but this moment makes it golden to me.

"Under his regime, I would not have been allowed to finish my education, because my parents are Muggles, and are not part of this world. By his reckoning, that made me unworthy to learn, to be here, or even to live. And yet today, I stand here with the highest scores in history. Take that, Voldemort, and all those who willingly followed him. I hope they're all turning over in their graves right now, because once and for all, I have proven them WRONG. It does not take Pure Magical Blood to make a Witch or Wizard worthy of our world; it only takes Magic and a willingness to learn. Thank you all, again." _Quietus_, she whispered, cancelling the enchantment on her voice.

"Thank you, Miss Granger." Minerva returned to her podium, and said to the crowd, "Now, I see that breakfast has officially concluded. Please enjoy your Saturday. Thank you." She subtly cancelled her own voice charm and stepped down from the podium. "I wasn't expecting you to make a speech, Hermione. It was very nice, though very brave. I admire you for having the courage to speak your heart."

Hermione had no words left after her speech, and could only nod in response.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Well, I wanted to get a bit more into this chapter to make up for the long notes section at the beginning, but honestly, I think I'll leave it off here for now. It feels like a good cut-off.

Any questions or comments can be left in a review or a PM. Thank you for reading, guys!

Oh, and on the Professors' names: I have an entire chart drawn up outlining my post-war Hogwarts Staff. I've given you a mild introduction to them in the parade of teachers, but this story will likely not feature them again. Another future story just might, however. Any truly ridiculous names are drawn from online HP resources, and I couldn't give up the ability to name one character, much less two characters, Piliwickle. I giggle every time I type it.

Up next: More time with Minerva, something from her point-of-view, and a huge time jump. It's time to get past the first two sentences of my outline and get into the meat of the story.

If you have a Tumblr and would like to get a brief snippet of my chapter releases as they come out, look for user 'knickknack-haiku'. I started this with Chapter Four, and will try to remember to keep up with the practice as I get the story written. There is more information on this system in my profile.

Additionally, I banged this chapter out in 24 hours. Don't expect many updates to come this fast. There's no way I can hold to that kind of schedule.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.

I don't have much for notes this time. I had way too many last time. I'm glad you all liked the explanation on aging.

This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Hermione could hardly walk a few steps after her speech without someone stopping her to shake her hand. Some of the younger students had tearfully asked for a hug; Muggle-borns who, like her, wouldn't have been at Hogwarts that year if not for the efforts of her and Harry in defeating Voldemort.

Surprisingly, there was even a group of several Slytherin students who reverently shook her hand, thanking her for getting rid of the old snake and freeing their families from his service, and congratulating her on her scores.

She finally reached the sanctuary of her rooms, and vowed not to leave them for the rest of the day unless strictly necessary, at least until time for her meeting with Minerva.

She sat at her desk and opened the wide blue ribbon surrounding her NEWT scores, separating that sheet from the ones offering jobs. Tucking it lovingly into the top drawer, she started leafing through the job offers. _I know Minerva will use her friend's money to pay for my Masteries, but I wouldn't dream of asking for living expenses. And Harry would probably let me stay at the CM until we're all old and grey, but I can't do that to him. Staying over the summer while I get my ducks in a row is one thing, but I won't take advantage of his generosity any longer than I must._ Her nature was to be independent, and although she liked having other people around, she craved her solitude at times. Therefore, she must get a job so she could afford to get her own flat.

She pulled out the ones for jobs she knew she would never want to do, and sent them flying into the fire. She was left with about twenty pages, and one in particular caught her interest.

It was from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. The letter, written by the current department head, a Mr. Xerophan Catalpa, stated that he had heard from reliable sources that she might be interested in helping to make a difference in the lives of house elves and other magical creatures, and he could offer her a chance to do so.

She thought back to her conversation with Minerva back in April, and how she'd said she didn't want to pursue a Mastery in Care of Magical Creatures, even though she did care about how the intelligent races were treated. If Mr. Catalpa was willing to allow her to work part-time while pursuing her Masteries, she just might take him up on the offer.

She set his letter aside, with three others that looked nearly as promising as the DRCMC's proposal. She would respond to the offers on Monday, asking about the potential for part-time work and what the subsequent pay would be. She bound the remaining sixteen letters back with the wide ribbon in case the chosen four didn't pan out, and placed the bundle in her second drawer. She left the four out flat, setting them under the edge of her writing case for Monday's attention.

There were a couple hours left until her scheduled meeting with Minerva, and with only a week left in the castle, Hermione decided to get a head-start on cleaning everything out.

She started by vanishing the extra desk she'd made for when her friends were studying, making sure there was nothing important left inside first. The extra desk chairs were vanished next. Lastly, she untransfigured her own desk, leaving only the original knee-hole and drawers, and reducing its size back to normal.

Searching through her bookshelves, she found the last couple library books and set them on the corner of her desk to be returned. The shelves had been mostly filled over the course of the year, and her fingers trailed fondly over the rows of book-spines, remembering weekend trips to the Hogsmeade branch of Flourish and Blotts, and receiving gifts from Harry and Neville and Luna. The most special tomes she owned, however, were the ones that Minerva had given her during the last year for their discussions, and those remained on a shelf to themselves.

She frowned, thinking they never had discussed whether the books were being given or loaned. She would need to clarify the point at their meeting; she didn't want Minerva to get the impression she was trying to steal her books. The mere thought was sacrilegious.

Her stomach growled up at her, requesting sustenance. She cast the _Tempus_ charm, and was surprised to see that it was past time for Lunch. She hadn't wanted to face the crowd again to eat, but knowing it was now too late made her hungrier. Thinking about her empty stomach, she headed down to the kitchens. To help avoid the constant handshakes and congratulations, she Disillusioned herself, feeling the cold trickle down the back of her neck.

She walked slowly, carefully navigating the staircases, and eventually reached the ground floor. She bypassed the Great Hall and took the staircase down to the kitchens' entrance. She didn't see anyone around, so she quickly cancelled the Disillusionment and tickled the pear before walking into the organized chaos of the house-elves' domain.

A youngish elf approached her timidly, squeaking out, "Can Callie help the young miss?"

"Hello, Callie. My name is Hermione, and I got caught up in pre-Leaving cleaning and missed lunch. I was wondering if I could get a sandwich or something simple to hold me over until dinner."

"Of course, Miss. We has plenty of leftovers from lunch if you wants something better than a sandwich, but if that is what Miss wants, that is what we will brings." Callie bowed slightly.

"I don't wish to be a lot of trouble, but hot food does sound lovely. Just a plate of anything from the leftovers will do. Thank you, Callie." Hermione was still uneasy about the forced servitude of the house-elves, but she was very hungry and thought she might as well make them happy by allowing them to fix her a plate.

"Yes, Miss. If you will just sits here, Callie will bring your plate in just a moment." She gestured to a seat at the end of what would correspond to the Ravenclaw table upstairs, and Hermione sat in it.

Left alone in her seat, Hermione took advantage of her time to observe the way the Hogwarts Elves worked. They certainly seemed happy as they whizzed around, getting the night's meals prepared. There were some elves already stirring big pots of soups or stews on oversized cooktops. Others were using the long tables to prep meat, fish, and vegetables for dishes which would be cooked later. Yet another section seemed to be devoted to preparing the lavish desserts the students and teachers enjoyed with each meal. There were the workers doing all the menial tasks, and each section had someone supervising, keeping them all working together flawlessly. Hermione noticed that there was one wizened little elf strolling around, checking not only on the individual cooks, but also on the section leaders. _That must be, essentially, the Head Chef of the Hogwarts Kitchens. Must be an interesting job to have._

Callie walked back up, placing two plates, flatware, and a goblet of orange juice in front of Hermione. She took a moment to enjoy the smells before looking down at the larger of the two plates. "Oh! Callie, this is very much the meal I would have fixed for myself had I made it down in time!" She glanced over at the smaller plate, which contained a large wedge of her favorite pie. "And the dessert as well! You've outdone yourself, Callie. Thank you so much." She picked up her fork and savored the first bite of the roast beef, closing her eyes as the flavors came alive in her mouth.

Callie giggled, "Of course, Miss. Elves knows what all the students like. How does you think we fix all the right food to please so many with the same meal?"

Hermione swallowed and replied, "I hadn't given it much thought. I should have paid more attention, I suppose." She took a small sip of her juice, appreciating the sting of the citrus juice instead of the standard Pumpkin juice favored by most Witches and Wizards. "I hate to take up any more of your time, Callie. Thank you very much for bringing me something to eat. What should I do with my things when I finish?"

"Just leaves them where they are, Miss. We'll takes care of them."

"Thank you again, Callie." She paused for a moment, before asking, "Are you happy here at Hogwarts, Callie?"

The elf seemed surprised by the question. "Yes, Miss. It's a great honor to be a Hogwarts elf. Callie is very happy to be here. I knows not all elves is happy with how their families treats them, but don't worry, Miss, all the elves here at Hogwarts is very happy. There's lots of work for us to do here, even in the summer when all the students is gone, and to be needed this much is the best thing for elves. This is when we is the happiest, Miss."

Hermione could see that Callie was being honest. "So you don't mind not getting paid for your work?"

"No, Miss. What does Hogwarts elves need money for? We is provided with plenty to do, a warm place to sleeps, clean things to wear, and we eats the same things you does. We is mostly left alone to do our work, and we is not mistreated here. We is happy to cook and clean and serve, Miss, truly we is."

"Thank you for your honesty, Callie. I'll let you get back to your duties now. It was a pleasure to meet you." Hermione was moved by the vehemence in Callie's voice. The biggest reservations she had about house-elf service had been laid to rest, but that one sentence had her worried for elves not in the service of the school. _I knows not all elves is happy with how their families treats them._ If he would have her, Hermione would be working for Mr. Catalpa beginning in the fall. All house-elves deserved the respect and treatment that Hogwarts elves received, and she could help ensure that.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon puttering around her rooms, and showed up promptly for her weekly meeting with Minerva. They started by going through the offers, and much to the would-be delight of her Defense professor, ended up deciding to go with Master Preston Piliwickle for Transfiguration, and Master Samantha O'Neill (*) for Charms.

Piliwickle's letter had outlined a four-year course with studies four days per week, quoting costs of 800 Galleons per year. O'Neill's outline was the same as Piliwickle's, but costing only 700 Galleons.

"We had originally discussed the possibility of up to two thousand galleons, so will fifteen-hundred be acceptable, Minerva? It's a lot of money." Hermione was worried about the practical aspect of paying back such a large debt.

"Don't fret over the money. If Morgan was as well off as she intimated to me, it won't be a problem. She had an uncanny knack for investments." Minerva breezed through the reference to Morgan without allowing the pain to touch her. She was going to have to get used to talking about her at some point. "What you need to worry about is the scheduling. Each Master is requiring four days per week for four years, and that's not allowing yourself time to work – assuming you're still planning to try and work some."

Hermione nodded, "Yes. I was going to respond to a couple of the job offers on Monday to see what kind of part time allowances they can make. I don't like using my name, my position as Harry's friend, or my Order of Merlin, but if it allows me to do everything I want over the next few years, then I will." There was a determined light in her eyes that Minerva was proud to see.

"Well, then, I would suggest talking with Masters Piliwickle and O'Neill about a revised schedule. Perhaps you could devote Mondays and Saturdays to your work in the Ministry, Tuesdays and Thursdays for Transfiguration, and Wednesdays and Fridays to Charms, leaving you Sundays to relax and have a personal life. It will be difficult, but I suspect you're up to the task." Minerva looked through the course outlines sent by the two Masters, pleased with Hermione's forethought in asking for them.

"Cutting those two days apiece from the Apprentice work every week, it will take twice as long to complete the courses. Eight years at this pace will be hard to maintain, even with the months off in the summer. I'm assuming that your Ministry job will absorb any spare time you're given in those months, so you still won't get any real rest or downtime." Both sets of eyes were searching through the stacks of parchment between them. When Hermione had arrived, Minerva had used the same charms to enlarge her desk that Hermione had used in her sitting room earlier in the year, but only increasing its width by half so they could both see and reach everything, and had made her own kneehole go through the opposite side of the desk so the younger witch could sit comfortably.

Hermione's eyes brightened and she smiled, her inner light bulb having lit up. "What if I didn't take those months off in the summer? If the Masters are willing to continue teaching me through the summer break, I could reclaim loads of lost time, cutting the overall course schedule down to six years instead of eight."

Minerva's eyes narrowed and her eyebrows furrowed deeper as she checked Hermione's calculations. "You're correct. Furthermore, if you grasp the concepts and lessons as quickly as I suspect you will, you could well be finished in five."

"If they're willing to teach me over the summer."

"It's worth asking." Minerva reached into a drawer, pulled out some fresh parchment, and pushed it over to Hermione's side of the desk. Hermione picked up the bundle, and clearing a space in front of her for writing, grabbed her quill and started writing her replies.

Minerva leaned back in her chair and watched as Hermione's hand moved the quill neatly and efficiently across the paper. She enjoyed the time spent with the younger witch each week, and would be sad when the year was over and their visits ceased. She blinked several times in quick succession, and her mouth dried up in shock as she realized that their final meeting was in progress; Hermione would be leaving on Friday. Their chances of meeting again were slim with the timetable they were trying to arrange. Her hands gripped the arms of her chair so tightly that the knuckles were turning white, and her heartstrings were vibrating painfully at the thought of her friend walking out of her life. It was an unacceptable situation. She'd already lost Albus, didn't have the faintest idea where Morgan was, and while this friendship with Hermione had crept up on her quite slowly, she wasn't willing to give it up and lose another person from her life.

"It's going to be strange not coming to see you every week." Hermione's voice was sad as she spoke up while continuing to write her letters.

"You're always welcome here," Minerva managed to choke out, still trying to think of a way to keep their friendship active and alive.

"I … it's presumptuous of me to ask, but even with how insanely busy I see my life getting this fall, and with all your duties here, could I keep coming to visit? Obviously, I won't be able to come every week, but maybe once a month? On a Sunday evening?" Hermione swallowed heavily, and her words were having a calming effect on Minerva. Her fingers began to loosen their grip on the wooden arms of her chair. "It's just that I feel like we've become friends this year, and I don't want to lose that."

"You're already going to have so little free time. Are you sure you want to spend part of that precious time with an old woman?" Minerva's voice was teasing, but inside, she was all tied up, hoping Hermione wouldn't take it back. If Morgan were there, she felt certain that she would have been able to let Hermione leave without looking back, but she was desperately lonely, and she didn't make friends easily. The idea of the woman who had become one of her closest friends going off, studying, working, and somewhere along the line, marrying Ronald Weasley, and leaving her behind was too much.

Hermione cheekily cocked her eyes from where they had been fixated on writing her letters up to Minerva's face, her quill finally stopping its movements. "Professor. Minerva. You're hardly old; you can't be more than forty-five or maybe fifty. And haven't we become friends this year in our meetings?"

Minerva laughed from deep within, "Of course we're friends. I don't give such glowing recommendations to just anyone. Thank you, by the way, for the compliment. I will be seventy-four this October. Wizards' aging continues to astound me, as well. Not that I'm ungrateful." Her tone turned somber, "My father never made it this far, and he looked much older when he passed. I've been given incredible opportunities in the time I've been given, and god willing, I'll be around a good while longer."

Hermione's eyebrows rose sharply. "Your father was a Muggle?"

There was a lingering sadness in Minerva's voice when she replied, "Aye. He didn't find out that Mother was a Witch until I was several months old and she could no longer hide my accidental magic. Through many years and two more children after myself, I don't think he ever quite forgave her for keeping the secret as long as she did. I can't say as I blame him, but it was a different time in the twenties when they married. These days, I don't see any reason for such secrecy in relationships. Honesty is the best policy, which is something you'd do well to remember, Hermione."

After what she'd been through with Ron and Luna, Hermione completely agreed. "Absolutely. I'm sorry to hear about your father." She spoke softly as she offered her condolences, and had Minerva's hand been within reach, Hermione would have reached over to touch it in comfort, but as both of her hands were still hidden under the edge of the desk on the arms of her chair, Hermione settled for a soft and sad look in her direction.

Minerva returned the forlorn look with one of her own. "It's an old wound, and time has softened its effects somewhat." She took a moment to collect herself. "As to your initial inquiry, of course you're always welcome at Hogwarts, and I would very much like it if you came for a monthly meeting with me. I don't want to lose our friendship either."

"Would the third Sunday of each month work for you, starting in September? I don't know how much time I'll have over the summer between getting everything set up for all this," she waved a hand over the scattered parchments, "and dealing with my parents."

"The third Sunday will be perfect." Minerva said. She was confused at the last reference. "Your parents? You said at one time they had moved from the country, but the popular opinion seems to be that they're dead."

"Both are essentially correct. The people who raised me, while still alive and very much out of the country, no longer exist as my parents." She looked down, ashamed of what she'd done. "I Obliviated them before going on the run. They have no memories of me or of having ever been parents. They'd always talked about how much they liked Australia and wished they could take a holiday there, so when I removed myself from their lives, I enhanced this desire. Without me to hold them back, they moved a couple months later and sold their house in London."

Minerva was deeply surprised. That was an amazingly advanced piece of magic for a seventeen year old to have been able to pull off. Many people who were much older couldn't have done it.

Sadness and worry washed over Hermione like waves in a storm, crashing against her soul one right after the other. "Part of my summer will be spent tracking them down. I did what I did out of love and trying to protect them from Voldemort, but I need to know they're okay. It's been two years, and I miss them so much, but there's been that divide between the Muggle and Magical worlds that we've had problems getting past at times over the years since I started Hogwarts. I fear that if I remove the memory charms and they realize what I've done to them, it'll be the last straw that makes them turn their backs on me for good. Is it better to have them out there, knowing nothing about me or magic but happy and safe, or to have them frightened of me and what I can do? I honestly don't know, Minerva, and I'm scared of all the outcomes."

Minerva was quiet for a moment, taking in everything Hermione had said. Finally, she carefully replied, "I think it's a tricky situation. You should definitely find them first. Watch them for a few days. See just how happy they are. If you honestly think you could live with yourself for leaving them oblivious to you and to the magical world, then do it. Leave them alone, come home, and try to bring yourself to terms with your decision. It won't be easy, but as they say, ignorance is bliss, and your parents will never know what a brilliant, strong, courageous daughter they raised.

"I do not, however, endorse this path. Instead, I would strongly suggest that you find them and remove the memory charms. It will take several minutes for their memories to assimilate. Once they've adjusted, explain yourself. See what they have to say. I fully expect that once you remove the charms and explain what you did and why, your parents will want you back in their lives.

"However, if that is not the case; if things are as bad as you fear they might be, reapply the memory charms, come home, and immediately come to see me. If not me, talk to Harry or one of the Weasleys or someone else you trust. Do _not_ try to deal with that situation on your own, Hermione. I don't care how strong you are, that is not something you should do alone."

"That… that makes a lot of sense. Thank you for the advice. I promise that no matter what the outcome, I'll let you know." Hermione was silent for a moment, the waves of despair beginning to recede. "I … I should finish my letters now." She picked up her quill and began to write again, pushing the thoughts of her parents to the side so she could concentrate on more immediate matters.

=======================HG/MM=======================

The letters were sent off the next morning, and in the end, both Masters agreed to the altered timetable, only asking for an additional 200 galleons to compensate for their time over the summers. The following Thursday afternoon found Minerva at Gringotts to discuss the terms of making payments from Morgan's vault. When she'd shown up and requested access to Vault 600, the goblin had been very courteous, which was quite out of character for Gringotts goblins, and had shown her to a small but plush side chamber, asking her to wait.

She was seated in a very comfortable wingback chair, and had been waiting about fifteen minutes. She was mindlessly toying with the ring on her right index finger, turning it round and round.

The door opened, and in walked a very old-looking goblin. His long nose was so hooked as to completely overtake his mouth, curving down to rest where his chin met his neck. He was very tall for a goblin, the top of his head nearly the same height as Minerva's shoulders.

"Are you the Witch requesting access to Vault 600?" His deep voice questioned.

"Yes. My name is Minerva McGonagall, and I was told in 1974 that I was granted access, though I have never since used it."

"Indeed, Madam McGonagall. I am Ragnok, the President of Gringotts, and from its beginning, I have supervised all dealings with this vault and its owner." He paused, keen black eyes taking in the finely worked green and black woolen robes, the slightly heeled black leather boots, and the coal-colored hair that was tightly pulled back and mostly hidden under the pointed hat resting atop her head. "Madam Stewart left strict instructions for you to be shown every courtesy granted to her. I apologize for the wait, but Eargrod has much to learn on what it means to service our VIP customers." He paused for a moment to glower. "He will be taught. Madam Stewart is a very important customer, after all."

Minerva was surprised to find herself dealing with the President of the bank. _Just how important is Morgan to the bank, and why?_ Minerva found herself wondering.

"I had no idea Morgan was so important to the bank, Master Ragnok."

He puffed up a bit at the title used to address him, a wicked smile crossing his lips, the sharp teeth peeking through ominously. "Madam Stewart was always in the unshakeable habit of calling me Master as well, Madam McGonagall. Other customers do not offer the same courtesy. Thank you." He bowed deeply, one arm at his waist and the other behind his back, then straightened.

"We are not the only magical beings deserving of respect, even if most of our population is not yet aware of that." Minerva, like Hermione, was aware of and sympathetic to the plight of the intelligent so-called 'sub-human' races, and it appeared that Morgan had been as well.

"Well said, Madam. Now to business. Do you have your key? I was told its shape might have been slightly altered."

"Yes, I have it." Minerva reached to take the silver ring from her finger, but Ragnok stopped her with a gesture.

"No need, Madam. It must only touch the door. Madam Stewart changed the enchantments on the vault door so that you would not have to alter its new form. Seeing that it has become a ring, the need for not only the touch of the key but also the touch of your skin has become apparent." He turned and opened the door, holding it open with his left hand while his right gestured fluidly for her to precede him through it. "If you will come with me, I will take you down."

Several minutes later, Minerva and Ragnok were deep within the bank's vault caverns, the brakes screeching loudly as they slid to a stop alongside the ledge bordering vaults 600 through 609. He stepped to the landing first, then extended a hand to help her out, surprising her again. She wasn't used to this level of courtesy from the goblins when she visited her own vault, which was closer to the surface than Morgan's. Normally she was lucky to get half a grunt from her escort, mostly greeted with snarls and threatening looks.

They walked the short distance to the door marked with glittering gold letters, writing out Vault Six-Hundred, rather than the standard numerals used on most other vault doors. The door was tall and made of a strong matte-finished metal. In the center of the door, just under the golden script, were two handprints, slightly sunken into the metal. One was for a left hand, slightly smaller than its right-handed counterpart, each index finger containing a small indentation where a ring would sit.

"If you will just press your right hand into its space, the vault will open for you."

Minerva was a bit nervous. The only thing she'd ever had to do to open a vault was insert a key and turn; none of this touching nonsense. She wasn't a tried-and-true Gryffindor for nothing, however, and so press her hand against the imprint, she did. The door glowed brightly before parting down the center and sliding inward. "Welcome, Min. It's all for you," a disembodied voice floated out of the vault, making her heart ache with need and wanting, her eyes closing. It was Morgan's husky voice, and as it echoed through the room of the vault, Minerva's hand rose to her chest, resting for a moment over her heart.

_Gods, I miss her. Come back to me, Morgan. Please come back to me. Be okay. Be alive. Come back to me._ She inhaled deeply and opened her eyes, looking around the inside of the vault for the first time. Her jaw nearly dropped when she saw how much money was piled up. It was all neatly organized on shelves and tables and desks, in piles of golden galleons, silver sickles, and bronze knuts. There were some shelves with magical artifacts that had to be priceless to the right person, and… Minerva was shocked to see the Philosopher's Stone, resting inside a small padded box, the lid left open with the stone on display.

There was a thick envelope propped against the side of the stone's box with her name written in a familiar script. With a tear in her eye, she reverently reached for the envelope. She flipped it over and broke the red wax seal, pulling out two sheets of heavy parchment, filled with large and flowery handwriting.

_Minerva,_

_I have been tasked with writing a letter for someone else who finds herself unable to write her own letter at this time. I am told that by the time you read it, I will be gone. I am sorry, but you have long known my stance that to the well-organized mind (and mine has always been extraordinarily well-organized), death is but the next adventure. Perhaps I am, even now, enjoying time in the afterlife with the man I still love, no matter what came in our later lives. Perhaps not. I shan't know until I am gone, and as yet, I am still here. _

_Miss Stewart has been given Nicholas' stone for safe-keeping, for reasons I cannot at this time explain. Please do not ask my Portrait self about this, as I will not answer._

_She is glaring at me with a ferocity I have only ever seen from you, so I shall now move on to her portion of the letter. _

_**Min. I wish I could be there with you right now, able to put my arms around you and comfort you. Know that if my life's work did not keep me so tied, I would be there for you every day and every night. I hate having to leave you so often and for so long at a time, but I have no choice, as much as it pains us both to be apart.**_

_**As you are now in the vault, I assume some need has arisen for my money. Take as much as you need, no matter the amount. With growth patterns being what they are, it's likely that you could completely clean it out (but for the stone, of course. Please close its box once you're done. I only left it open to bring your attention to the letter.), and it would be refilled in a matter of months. My investments are that secure.**_

_**If you are here to set up payments for a student's education, as I long ago hinted that you may, please speak with Master Ragnok. He has instructions to set up a once-yearly draft to however many recipients you need for any amount. If you have any personal need at this time, again, please take whatever amount you deem necessary. I think you can see that it would be a mere drop in the proverbial bucket.**_

_**I must go now, but please know that I love you so much, and that I ache for you when we are not together. My heart beats and bleeds for you, Min, and you are the best part of me. - Morgan**_

_She really is a most talented Witch, and if I may say so without your fiery Scottish jealousy erupting, quite striking. I believe you to be quite well-matched. I find that I am a little disappointed that you never thought to entrust me with this knowledge, even after I told you of my own past, but such is the nature of secrets. You have, if it means anything at all, my blessing, Minerva. Be happy if you can. _

_May the winds of fate blow you on a most interesting course, and may it be another lifetime before you join me on the other side. _

_Albus_

_(P.S. I would ask how it is that she gets to shorten your name, when I have always been denied that right, even after nearly sixty years of friendship, but I have a feeling that I know the answer and it is a method which neither of us would ever have allowed. –AD)_

Laughing quietly at his cheek in the post-script, Minerva could almost see the damn twinkle in his eyes as he'd written that bit. She ran her fingers over the parts of the letter that had been dictated by Morgan. A letter, not only from her absent lover, but also from the best friend she'd ever had. It was a gift without equal. She sighed deeply before folding the letter, replacing it in its envelope, and tucking it into the inner breast pocket of her robes, over her heart. She reached up to close the little box holding the Philosopher's Stone, feeling a mild magical shock as the box's lid snapped to its base. The clasp disappeared, along with the seam, until what was left was a box that nobody could possibly open.

Taking another look around the massive vault, Minerva called out, "Master Ragnok?"

"Yes, Madam?" He turned to step into the vault, stopping with a practiced ease just inside the door.

"I am told that Morgan left instructions with you about a drafting system. Where can we discuss that?" She turned away from the treasure-filled room to speak with him.

"We can discuss that kind of business up in my office. Is there anything else you require from the vault itself?"

She glanced around one last time. "No. No, I think I'm done."

"Very well, Madam. If you would just come this way, please." He gestured toward the platform outside the door. Minerva left the vault essentially untouched, and stepped back out. "Now, if you could just place your hand back into its space, the vault will close itself back up."

She slid her hand back into the indentation that matched her hand, and the doors silently swung closed, fusing back together with a flash.

Minerva made the draft arrangements over a cup of strong coffee in Ragnok's office, leaving afterward for Hogwarts. She sent a quick note off to Hermione upon her arrival, letting her know that the payments had been taken care of. She spent the rest of the evening curled up in her chair by the fire, reading and re-reading the letter, eventually falling asleep where she sat, the letter pressed tightly between her hand and her heart.

=======================HG/MM=======================

The next day, Hermione left Hogwarts for the last time as a student. Everywhere she walked that day, she drew into her memory. Over there, she had run from Harry and Ron in first year when Ron had called her a nightmare. It wasn't a good memory in itself, but if Ron hadn't said it, she wouldn't have spent the day crying in the bathroom, and if she hadn't done that, she wouldn't have been there for the Troll to find, and the three of them might never have been friends at all.

That was where Moody-Crouch had coined the popular phrase "The Amazing Bouncing Ferret" when he used Malfoy for a Transfiguration toy. It had been amazingly funny at the time, but in retrospect, it had been a very dangerous piece of magic. Malfoy was lucky Minerva had been around to undo the spell.

Up there, she had received her first kiss. Viktor hadn't been the best kissing partner, and in her limited experience, had actually been the worst of the lot. His lips had been too wet, but she hadn't known at the time that not everyone was like that.

That's where she had been standing when she'd glanced around the corner with her mirror and been petrified by the Basilisk.

Wandering through the Entrance Hall, she passed the room they'd been pressed into after crossing the lake in First Year. It had been the second time she'd seen Minerva, and she'd been so eager to impress the Professor as much as she'd been impressed herself when she'd seen the oddly dressed woman on her parents' doorstep. Minerva had given them a little speech about the presence of magic and had talked with her parents about all the accidental, uncontrolled magic she'd done. They'd been given a little information on the school itself and the House system. Minerva had told them that she was the Head of Gryffindor House, and from that had stemmed Hermione's desperate wanting to be placed in it.

The more she walked, the more memories she tucked away. They were precious memories. Some were good, some were bad, and some were wonderful. All were part of her past, part of what made her into who she was. She was happy with herself. There were going to be some hard years coming, but Merlin-willing, she would come out the other side a stronger, happier, and more fulfilled person.

Her trunk was packed and ready to go, her rooms stripped of anything that hadn't been there when she arrived last September. The carriages were waiting to take them all to the station. Luna had been making herself scarce lately, which was understandable, but Hermione hooked one arm into Ginny's, the other into Neville's, and the three of them walked down the steps from the front doors and left, ready to face their futures.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Hermione stayed with Harry for two weeks before taking a series of Ministry-approved Portkeys from London to Sydney. From there, she began searching for her parents. It took her a week and a half, as they had settled further north along the coast in Brisbane. Taking Minerva's advice, she spent another week and a half watching the Wilkenses go about their lives. They appeared to be happy, busy, and didn't seem to miss having a daughter.

Drawing up her courage, that Saturday morning, she knocked on their door. Her mum answered the door warily, but a subtle _Confundus_ got Hermione inside, where she temporarily petrified both of her parents. Undoing the complex memory charms left her shaking from exertion, but she could finally see recognition in the eyes of her parents.

A quick Finite later, her reanimated parents were yelling and screaming at her. Hermione sat and listened to everything they had to say, head downturned, tears streaming silently down her cheeks and dripping onto her lap. Finally they quit yelling and in a quiet voice, her mother asked, "Why couldn't you just leave well enough alone, Hermione? We were happy here. We haven't known how to relate to you ever since you went off to that school. Our profession wasn't good enough for you; you had that magical doctor fix your teeth rather than letting us use what we know and do every day. You started spending all your holidays where the magic was instead of at home with us. You quit allowing us to be your parents long before you used your magic to remove yourself from our lives. We've been so happy here the last two years. I can't go back to the way it was before."

Hermione could barely talk for her sobbing, but managed to let them know that while she couldn't redo the memory charms just then, she'd be back the next morning to take care of it, and they wouldn't have to worry about seeing her again afterward.

Numbly, she walked back to her hotel room, not feeling the cold wind as it pierced through her unbuttoned jacket. Not bothering to undress once inside, she curled up in the middle of the bed, and cried herself to sleep.

Very early the next morning, she packed her things up and checked out of the hotel. Her parents were still asleep when she reached their house, which made the Obliviation process that much easier. Her job done, she left through the back door, finding a quiet yard that had privacy fencing, which helped Hermione out quite a bit. Nobody could see as she closed her eyes, focused on Minerva and Hogwarts, and disapparated with a loud crack.

It had been six in the morning in Brisbane, but back in Scotland, it was eight o'clock the previous evening. Another loud crack broke the silence as Hermione appeared before the gates of the school. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she barely managed to get her hand up to touch the gate before collapsing in a heap.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Having received notification from the school that someone was at the gates, Minerva was walking down the path crossly, annoyed at having her late dinner interrupted. _This had better not be another reporter trying to get an interview,_ she thought with a scowl. She approached the entrance to the school and didn't see anyone at first. Then, sensing her arrival, the iron gates swung inward, revealing a dark lump on the ground. Minerva picked up her pace, falling to her knees and turning the person over. "Hermione," she whispered, aghast at finding her like that. She pulled her wand from its sheath at her waist, sending a quick Patronus message to Poppy, thankful the Mediwitch was still on the premises. She cast a feather-light charm on Hermione, put her wand back in its sheath, then scooped her up and began to run as quickly as she dared, not wanting to jostle her friend too much, but needing to get her up to the Hospital Wing as soon as possible.

Luckily for them both, Minerva had left the front doors ajar on her way down, so she didn't have to stop to open them. She sent up a quiet prayer that the staircases would cooperate, and was rewarded by an unhindered path upstairs. Madam Pomfrey was waiting at the entrance to her domain. She ushered the Headmistress over to the closest bed, where she carefully deposited Hermione, cancelling the feather-light charm as her body rested on the bed.

Minerva stood back to allow Poppy room to examine her, chest heaving from her flight up.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Minerva. Sit down and conjure up some water to drink. She'll be fine, and I don't need another patient on my hands." Minerva did what she was told, watching as Poppy cast a series of diagnostic spells, trying to figure out what was wrong.

After what felt like hours, but was actually only several minutes, Poppy stood back and said, "Don't worry, Minerva, it's only magical exhaustion. It looks like she did some incredibly advanced magic and then turned around and apparated several thousand miles further than is recommended." She shook her head slowly. "I wouldn't have thought Miss Granger stupid enough to try something like this instead of taking a series of Portkeys, especially after whatever spell she cast that drained her so much."

"Oh. Oh, no. She apparated several _thousand_ miles over the recommended limit?" Minerva closed her eyes, realizing what would have driven Hermione to apparate so far, and after such a drain on her magic. And she'd come to Minerva instead of to Harry. _Things must have gone very badly._

"Hmm, yes. She'll be out until at least morning, as drained as she was. Will you be by to check on her then? I know the two of you got pretty close last year."

"Actually, can I stay? If she does wake earlier than you think, I don't want her to be alone. I think I know what happened, and she won't need to be by herself." Worry was written plainly on her face, concern in every word.

"Of course, if you feel so strongly about it. It's not like I'm fully booked with injured students right now like I am after the Gryffindor-Slytherin matches. Help yourself to a bed, dear. I'm off to bed myself. I've a good book calling my name. If you need me, send another Patronus." The Mediwitch bustled off to her enjoined quarters, leaving Minerva alone with Hermione.

She stood and walked over to stand beside the occupied bed. She transfigured Hermione's Muggle clothes into what she remembered passing for sleeping attire for the younger witch and pulled the thin blanket over her body, tucking it lightly around her shoulders. The bushy brown hair had come loose, and the change from the dry cold of the Australian winter to the mild but humid heat of a Scottish summer hadn't been kind to it. Minerva's cool hands smoothed frizzy hair out of the sleeping face, one of her palms coming to rest against Hermione's cheek.

The sleeping witch leaned into the touch, unconsciously muttering Minerva's name and smiling. In response, a thumb grazed tenderly along her cheekbone before withdrawing.

Minerva stepped back and left Hermione to sleep and regain her magical stores. She reached up and freed her hair from its bun, braiding it as usual before transfiguring her own clothes into a light cotton nightgown in a tartan print and climbing into the next bed over from where Hermione slept. She cast an alarm spell that would wake her if Hermione woke herself or was in distress while she refilled her magical reserves. Tucking her wand under her pillow and bringing the blanket up over her form, Minerva drifted off.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Hermione stayed a week at Hogwarts. Her reserves took that long to completely refill, and emotionally, she was incapable of caring for herself. Minerva moved her from the Hospital Wing to her own suite after that first night, the guest bedroom being put to use for the first time. She spent much of the week in debilitating tears, Minerva holding her through the worst, and it eventually began to get better. By the time her magic was back to its normal level, she was stable enough to go back to the CM.

She told Harry and Ron, and had another minor breakdown session. Slowly, as the summer went on, she got better, occasionally slowed down by a bad night. One of those nights, she crawled into Ron's bed. He was confused, but she put her fingers over his lips, and said she just needed to be touched and loved without worrying about anything else. As with their first time, he found himself unable to say no. He knew it wouldn't fix anything, and he knew somewhere deep inside that he was being used, but couldn't make his hormonal nineteen-year old mind care.

She kissed him and wrapped her naked body around his, and for a while, they both forgot their troubles.

Neither of them mentioned it the next morning, or at all in the days that came after. July moved into August, and with a purpose looming front of her, Hermione began to prepare for the grueling schedule of work and study.

She met with Xerophan Catalpa and was shocked by his appearance. He was very tall, even taller than Snape had been, and quite solidly built. His skin was the color of bronze, and completely free of hair except for his eyebrows and the waist-length solid white hair, which was never pulled back, instead flowing freely over his shoulders and down his back. His most striking feature, however, was his eyes. They were white like his hair. The pupils were black, surrounded by a thin golden band, then white irises, another thin golden band, surrounded by more white in the sclera.

They got along famously, and although she was only scheduled to work two days a week, they were both optimistic about the work she was set to do.

She had similar meetings with Master Piliwickle and Mistress O'Neill, who both reported prompt payment of her fees by a Gringotts draft, and indicated how happy they were to help usher her into the upper educational system of the Wizarding world. Her first week on any official timetable was set to begin on Monday, the sixth of September, which was the first Monday of the month.

Despite her previous insistence that she would get her own flat, Hermione decided to stay on with Harry at the CM. It was in a central location for all the places she needed to be during the week, and had the added benefit of the back garden for apparating safely to where she needed to go.

Per their agreement, Hermione showed up on the nineteenth of the month at Hogwarts. After expressing her concern over Hermione's well-being, Minerva settled back into their routine. Since they were to be more infrequent, the length of their meetings was extended to three hours. Month after month, she came, and the two witches discussed both Hermione's Ministry work and Apprentice work. Minerva offered tips when she thought they would be helpful, and Hermione received the knowledge, her brain ever a sponge.

Sometimes Minerva would have a rant about the drama of the school; students misbehaved fantastically, professors got up to hijinks of their own, and the responsibility for it all fell on Minerva's shoulders. On those nights, Hermione put off her own concerns and listened to her friend yell and shout, quietly offering tea or biscuits, or on one notable occasion, whiskey. They agreed that was an experience neither wanted to discuss ever again.

Time passed in this way, and the friendship between the two women only grew deeper and stronger. The next summer did not interrupt their meetings any more than it interrupted Hermione's work or studies.

Nor did the next summer.

Every now and again, Hermione's body would begin to thrum with need, and with her hectic schedule, she had no time to try and date anyone. Ron was in and out of relationships, and if he was available when her need grew, they had an arrangement to take care of each other without any strings attached. If it bothered him that sometimes she only wanted certain aspects of the physical acts that satisfied her lust, he never made it known to her. On those nights, he would pleasure her with his fingers and tongue, and she would return the favor.

Her emotional attachment to him was never any deeper than it had been after their first time. He was only a warm and willing body when she got desperate enough, and that was the arrangement. Another year passed, and her fourth year as an Apprentice was drawing to a close.

In a surprising turn, Harry showed up for his twenty-third birthday party with Luna. Neville and Ginny had recently announced their engagement, and Harry had finally let go of the idea that she would come back to him eventually. Luna had recently completed her Mastery in Magical Creatures, and was taking the summer off before setting out to prove the existence of all the crazy-sounding creatures she'd ever claimed existed, but was unable to prove due to a lack of evidence.

A chance meeting between the two in Diagon Alley had led to a few dates, and both were happy with the ease of the relationship. That Christmas, between her exploration expeditions and his work as a rising Auror, he managed to propose, and she gleefully accepted.

Hermione worried that she – and by extension – Ron were about to be out of a place to live, but a conversation with Harry put those fears to rest. He appreciated all the work they'd all put into the CM, but he didn't want to live there forever. He had looked into the Potter home in Godric's Hollow, and found that he owned it as well as the only surviving member of his family. Once spring came, he told her, he was going to start working to rebuild and restore the place where his father had grown up so that he and Luna would have a fresh place to start their lives together. The CM would remain as it was, available to whoever needed it, and he would still be there for probably another year or two until the construction at Godric's Hollow was completed and he and Luna could marry.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She just didn't have time to try to find somewhere else. Things continued along the same vein, and at the close of her fifth year out of Hogwarts, she was tired, but fulfilled. She was nearing the end of the outlined coursework for both of her Masteries, and was expecting to wrap up her final projects and be fully qualified by the end of one more year.

Things were going perfectly for the twenty-four year old. And then … they weren't.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I really hate sitting and coming up with names for original characters, and while I'd completely avoid them if I could, this fic has basically forced me to come up with quite a few. So forgive me. I shamelessly borrowed Sam from Stargate SG-1. And yes, she's married to Jack. Because there are no regs against it in my Magical world. I won't borrow any more characters from them, although I could have so much fun inserting someone like Teal'c, and Hermione and Daniel would get along FAMOUSLY. Uh, does anyone now want to write me a little crossover AU where Hermione (and Minerva!) and Daniel and Sam are all witches/wizards and best geeky friends? And Jack just stands in the corner with Ron and Harry like "I have no clue what they're going on about." Just a little ficlet? No? Well, damn. I tried.

A lot happened this chapter for our intrepid duo. Next time, which will definitely be after Christmas, we finally begin to get into why I've called this "She Who Turns Time" and how it affects Hermione, Minerva, and the rest of the Wizarding world. In short, we get into the reason I started writing the story in the first place.

I won't update again until after Christmas because I'm going to my sister's house and she has no internet (I'm gonna die, I swear.), so to those who celebrate it, Happy Yule/Solstice and a very Merry Christmas. I'll see you all again before the New Year.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.

I would say that I'm sorry for the massive cliff-hanger with which I left you last time, but let's just be honest here, I'm not. I'm an evil bitch who left you over Holidays with the drama of "Things were perfect … and then they weren't." Hate me if you must, but keep reading. Things are about to get interesting.

I finished this in my offline time at my sister's house and thought I'd give you a little gift on Christmas Day. I hope you all had a perfect holiday, no matter which one/ones you celebrate.

This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM=======================

_Saturday 19 June 2004_

Minerva sat behind the large desk in the Head Office at Hogwarts, going through budget revisions. She'd always done them for Albus as well, and although she had absolutely no desire to continue doing them for herself, she couldn't bring herself to foist the most hated of duties off on anyone else. A discreet chime let her know that it was only an hour until midnight. With a sigh, she put aside her quill and recapped the pot of ink. The budgets could wait; she was going to bed.

Near one in the morning, Minerva couldn't get to sleep. She sat up in the bed and reached to punch her long pillow into shape before slumping back down onto it, somewhere between being on her stomach and her side, with her arms wrapped around the pillow the way one might cuddle into a lover by resting your head on their chest. It just wasn't the same. She was craving Morgan, and a lumpy pillow wouldn't do.

She sighed as she gave in to her baser desires and reached for her wand. She started by lengthening the already long pillow so that it was as long as Morgan was tall. She then gave it the shape of her lover's body, detaching pieces for the arms and splitting the bottom portion to make her legs. She turned a couple of the troublesome lumps into soft breasts, then, pleased with her work so far, she cast a heating charm and brought it to body temperature. The last addition was a simulated heartbeat and carefully timed breaths.

She laid her head on top of the heartbeat, wrapped her arms around the pillow's waist, and cast one final charm on the free arm of the pillow, making it stroke up and down her side the way Morgan used to do.

She hated herself every time she did this, but sometimes, it was the only way she could sleep when alone. Sure enough, she was soon drifting off to dreams.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Several hours later, brown eyes scratched open, wondering why on earth her pillow was moving. Hermione tried to sit up to investigate, but found that she was being held down by a strong arm. _Oh. Ron. Gods, I swore last time would be THE last time. How did I end up…? _And then the memories crashed back into her mind. Celebrating the passage of the bill protecting the rights of house-elves. Getting piss-drunk on rum, which was _never_ a good idea for her, but it was the only liquor in the house and nobody had felt like going out to get anything else. Being unable to sleep alone in her bed and crawling in with Ron. She squeezed her eyes back together tightly.

Hermione had sworn to herself that she wouldn't do this again with him. At first, it had been just release for both of them. She would need to feel loved, and he was alone and available, and they would satisfy their physical needs with each other. Lately, however, she thought she could feel more coming from his side, and she wanted to avoid hurting him if at all possible. She had always been clear on what she wanted from him, but they hadn't actually talked about it in a couple years, so maybe he was reading too much into the continued dalliance.

Managing to throw his arm off, she crept from the bed, gathered up her clothes, and bolted from the room. A quick shower later, with her hair in a pair of damp French braids, she pulled on a comfortable shirt, a pair of knee-length denim shorts, socks and trainers, grabbed her ever-present little beaded bag, and left the house for a day of shopping.

Other patrons of Diagon Alley gave her odd looks for her Muggle outfit, not having the benefit of a nice wizard's robe or cloak to cover it up, but she dressed very professionally six days of the week. Sundays were "damn them all" days where she wore what she wanted and a pox on anyone who cared.

The first shop she ducked into was, of course, Flourish and Blotts. She spent an hour going through their Transfiguration section, and another in Charms. She had picked out three Transfiguration books, and four Charms texts. Bringing the heavy books to the counter, she inquired about the rarer tomes she had on order, and was delighted to find that a couple had been found. She paid for her purchases, stowed them safely in her bag, and turned to leave.

She stopped herself when she noticed a tall witch standing between her and the door, busily perusing a thick book on Potions. She had red hair, lighter than Weasley-red and liberally sprinkled with blonde highlights, tumbling in loose curls around her face. She was three or four inches taller than Hermione, and willow-thin. Her facial features strongly resembled those of her former teacher, Severus Snape, and in fact, had Hermione not known better, she would have believed this witch to be the love-child of Snape and Lily Potter, Harry's mum. She even had Lily and Harry's eyes.

She was … beautiful, and Hermione was dumbstruck. Last night with Ron should have killed off her lustful impulses for a while, but this witch woke everything inside, making her body scream with _want._ Hermione made herself leave the shop before she made a fool of herself by walking up and asking the other woman out, not knowing anything about her. She was probably dead straight. Probably a pureblood elitist. Would probably hex Hermione for even daring to speak to her. Would definitely have slapped her if she'd just walked up and done what her body was urging her to do by snogging her to within an inch of sanity.

Hermione wandered aimlessly around Diagon Alley for a while until her lust had begun to cool. She had intended on doing quite a bit of shopping, but found that she needed to get out of magical London lest she saw the red-headed witch again. With a quick turn, she apparated back to the back garden of the CM.

Back in her rooms, she pulled the new books from her bag, setting them in a neat pile on one side of her reading desk. One of the two rare volumes was on top of the stack, and she laid it in front of her, gingerly opening it and beginning to read.

A couple hours later, she began to feel unsettled and it interrupted her reading. She picked her head up and looked around the room, finding the source of her unease standing in the doorway, propped against the frame. Ron was watching her read with a small, contented smile on his face.

"Did you need something?" _Why, again, haven't I gotten a flat of my own so I can have real privacy and alone time? Oh, right. Money. Time. I might need to look into that soon. Especially as I will definitely no longer be using Ron the way I have been. It's unfair to him, especially if my suspicions are true._

"Sorta. Do you have a minute?" He pulled away from the doorframe and sauntered into her room.

She whined internally. _I really don't want to deal with this right now._ "Sure. What's up?" She turned in her chair to face his standing form.

"We… we have a good thing going here, don't we, Hermione?" He continued without waiting for a response. "I mean, half the time you leave without waking me, but you've always slept best alone, and you get up a lot earlier than I do, so I mostly appreciate that you let me sleep, but basically we're good, aren't we?"

She looked at him warily. "Basically. So far. Yes." Her words were stilted, wondering what was coming.

"Right, and I know some married couples who don't give each other the space and courtesy that we give each other, and they're miserable. We manage this way and we're pretty happy together. So, what I'm trying to get to is," he paused to swallow. She had figured out where he was going, much to her growing horror. "Marry me. Let's make it official. We may not have one of those passionate relationships that you read about in the Romance column of Witch Weekly, but we get along, and it's working for us. So," he knelt down in front of her, "marry me."

Her eyes slammed shut, and her worst fears for this conversation had just come true. "Ron. I… You know that no matter what, I love you. I always have, and I always will, but nothing's changed for me. I love you, but I don't love you like that." _Oh god, here it comes. I don't want to do this._ She opened her eyes, seeing the hurt on his face. She swallowed thickly past a lump in her throat and reached out to take his hand between hers. "I was actually going to talk to you soon about this. I … don't think we should continue the way we have been. It's not a healthy relationship that we've had the last few years. I'm sorry to hurt you, Ron, but somewhere you must know I'm right."

"Yeah, 'cause you're always right." He laughed bitterly. "Except when you're not right, and then you're total bollocks." He jerked his hand out of hers and stood to loom over her. "I'll be at The Burrow for a few days. I need some time." He stalked stiffly out of the room, leaving a stunned Hermione in her desk chair.

She couldn't formulate a coherent thought and just sat in her chair, staring at the door he'd slammed behind him. She sat, mind empty of everything for several minutes before the walls started closing in on her and she had to get out. She grabbed her bag, shoving the stack of books into it haphazardly, and ran down to the garden, apparating quickly away.

Hermione appeared outside the gates of Hogwarts seconds later. It was still several hours until she was supposed to be there, but she really needed to talk to her friend. She needed the comfort of the tea and the biscuits and the listening ears. So she walked up to the gates, pressed her hand to one of the metal bars, and waited for Minerva to come down.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Minerva was not having a good day. After going to bed so late and having to charm her pillow just to sleep, she'd been woken up early because Peeves had taken it upon himself to wreak havoc in the kitchens just after dawn. With the students gone, it would normally have been a minor incident, but the house elves had witnessed too much of Peeves' shenanigans over the years, and had finally had enough.

Using some previously unknown variations of Wizards' magic, twisted into a form that elf-magic could use, they had frozen him in place. Then, they had transported him out of the kitchens, sending him whizzing at top speeds around the castle. Since he was frozen and in corporeal form, he had slammed into walls and doors, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Once she'd realized what was going on, Minerva had sat down with the leaders of the various factions of house-elves and talked them into bringing Peeves down to where they were meeting. They had done so, and stopped his flight, though he was still immobilized. She had finally wrangled an agreement out of the Poltergeist that he would henceforth leave the kitchens alone. If he broke his end of the agreement, the house-elves were given the right to band together and remove him from the school.

She had been more than a little surprised to find that they had the ability to do so, but was pleased to have finally found a way to control Peeves other than calling for the Bloody Baron.

An accord having been reached, the elves had released him, and horrified at his treatment, he'd run off to the deepest parts of the dungeons to sulk.

That had been at 7:30. Knowing she'd be unable to get back to sleep at that hour, Minerva went back to the budgets she'd given up the night before, managing to get the last revision done by noon. She'd just sat down to her lunch when she felt a tingle of the castle's magic, letting her know someone was at the front gates. Glancing longingly at her plate, she cast a charm to keep the food warm and went down to greet the visitor.

It was a nice day outside; the sun was shining brightly, there was a cool breeze blowing, and the students were finally all gone, so it was calm and quiet. Despite her lunch having been interrupted, Minerva was quite enjoying her walk down to the gates. Since there were very few people left in the castle, she had decided to leave her heavy robes for the day, and was dressed in her standard comfort-wear. Her oxford shirt was turquoise-colored and short-sleeved, the top two buttons unfastened. Her loose-fitting trousers were a bright white. Her hair was still in its bun, but she chose not to wear her hat unless she was wearing robes, and loose strands were blowing gently in the breeze.

She smiled when she saw Hermione waiting, hours early. Her day had just gotten immensely better.

The gates swung open noiselessly, and Hermione turned to face her approaching friend. As soon as their eyes met, Minerva's smile faded and her eyes softened with concern, feet halting their progress. There was something wrong.

Hermione took hesitant steps forward before rushing the remaining distance between them, wrapping her arms around the slim waist and burying her head into Minerva's chest, beginning to sob almost immediately.

Minerva had seen what was coming with about two seconds' notice, and had been able to prepare for the impact. As the younger woman threw herself into the embrace, Minerva wrapped her left arm around Hermione's back, bringing the right up to cradle the back of the head tucked under her chin. As she'd done before, Minerva comforted her friend with soft words and a warm embrace, allowing her to cry out her grief.

Hermione's tears began to slow, and her voice scratched out, "Oh, Minerva, why did he have to fuck it all up?"

"Why did who have to …fuck what up?" Minerva frowned and stuttered over the vulgar word, and her hands stopped their soothing motions along Hermione's back.

Hermione shoved herself back and spat out, "Ron!"

"Ah, I see." _I thought she'd given up on Weasley years ago._ "What has the thickheaded Mr. Weasley done now?" She found herself tensed up, hands clasped tightly in front of her, arms rigid, with lips pursed in disapproval. Merlin help him if he'd hurt her Hermione.

"He _proposed_, the great git." Hermione was pacing in front of Minerva now, arms gesticulating wildly. "As though I'd want that! I thought he _knew_ by now! _Why_ would he be so bloody _stupid_?" She stopped and deflated somewhat. "Why would he do it, Minerva? Now everything's ruined."

Minerva's eyes were wide open at the revelation. "He… proposed. Marriage?"

"No, he proposed that we get up on the table and dance like drunken monkeys." She snapped. "Of course he proposed marriage." Hermione was sorry for her words the moment they left her lips, but it was too late to take them back. She expected Minerva to lecture her on the proper ways a young woman should address her elders or her friends, and was bracing herself with closed eyes.

She didn't expect to hear Minerva's voice calmly say, "Walk with me, Hermione."

Her eyes cracked open, seeing the older woman standing, more relaxed than a moment earlier, and holding a crooked arm out in Hermione's direction.

"You seem like you have some rather unpleasant things to discuss, and in my experience, unpleasant things can be made to appear somewhat less so if discussed outside on glorious days like today." She gestured with her elbow, and her voice picked up a bit more steel. "Walk with me."

Still shocked, Hermione placed her hand in the crook of Minerva's outstretched left arm, and found her hand tucked against the side of her companion, being patted lightly by Minerva's free right hand. Thankful for the calming contact, Hermione rested her left hand on top of the pile, squeezing the one underneath hers, and the two witches began to walk.

"I'm sorry I was snappish." Hermione managed after a moment.

"No need, dear. I was the one who asked a stupid question." Minerva looked over at the witch by her side. "Now that you appear to have calmed down a bit, why don't you tell me what happened."

They continued walking, coming up on the Western shore of the lake, and turning to walk along its bank, curving North toward the castle.

Hermione sighed, gathering her thoughts. She wasn't sure how much to reveal to Minerva about the circumstances with Ron and their strange relationship over the last few years. Should she tell about Luna, especially now that she was going to marry Harry? Should she tell about the other encounters she'd had besides Ron and Luna?

After all, Luna hadn't been her only female lover. Yes, she and Ron been each other's crutches, but there had been times over those five years when he'd been in a relationship. Hermione would put her need off as long as possible, but her fingers alone were never quite enough to silence it completely. It hadn't happened too frequently, but when things got bad enough, Hermione would be absent from the CM for a night.

She'd found a couple of gay and lesbian nightclubs in Muggle London, and once or twice a year, had visited them with the intention of finding a quick tryst. There was never a shortage of women who approached Hermione in these clubs, and she would pick one from the throng and go back to their place for the night.

She'd learned the art of how to look at someone with the right amount of smolder to awaken their own lust. It was usually a good indicator of whether the woman was receptive to advances or only there with a friend. Hermione did love Ron, and was able to be satisfied by him, but these amorous liaisons with Muggle women cemented in her heart the knowledge that while she did have some vague interest in men, women were truly where her heart lay.

Yet, she'd continued to use Ron because of convenience, and she was ashamed of herself for allowing it to go on as long as it had.

Sighing deeply again, she decided to just start with the proposal and whatever came out after that would just have to be okay.

"I… we. We got drunk last night. On Rum. Harry and Luna, Ginny and Neville, and Ron and me. We were celebrating and we got beyond drunk. Rum is not my best liquor unless I want certain things to happen, and … well …" she paused to shrug, wincing, "Ron was there. And available. And I slept with him. I knew it was a mistake as soon as I woke up, and I ducked out and went shopping for books. When I came back, he proposed – and rather badly really, at that. Of course I turned him down, because I don't love him like that and never have, and I thought he felt the same way, but now he's angry with me, and we won't ever be able to go back to what we had before, and it's all the fault of the rum and that damned witch in the bookshop who was really far more attractive than any woman has the right to be, and damn it all, I don't know what I'm going to do."

Minerva listened to the long confession, surprised first by Hermione's admission of a long-term physical relationship with Ron, further shocked when she'd left him to go book shopping, of all things, and finally astonished by the vague reference to an apparently very attractive witch.

She reached up to rub her forehead between her eyes, and cut through it all. "So, you had sex with a man whom you do not love – I'm assuming not for the first time – were subsequently surprised by an unexpected proposal, which you turned down, hurting your friend-slash-lover, correct?"

"Yes." Minerva thought Hermione at least had the decency to sound embarrassed and guilty.

"That much of it, I can understand, even if I don't approve. You've treated him abominably from the way you describe things. However, what I don't understand is this reference to a woman in a bookshop?"

_Damn. She picked up on that part. Well, here goes! _"Right. And yes, I know I've treated him badly, but to your point, there was a woman reading when I was getting ready to leave Flourish and Blotts this morning. She was … incredibly beautiful, and I was so attracted to her that if the location and situation been different, I would have snogged the hell out of her. You see," she gulped, "I like women as well as men. Actually, I like women a hell of a lot more than I like men."

"Ah." Minerva couldn't get anything else out. Now she understood everything.

"Please don't hate me. I don't know if I could bear that on top of everything else. I know it's a shock, but that's why I could never have accepted Ron's proposal. I mean, he _knew_. I told him and Harry years ago when I started dating … On second thought, I'd better not name names, especially as she's decided she's more into men these days. But anyway, he knew, and I just don't get where the proposal came from."

"Dear girl, I couldn't hate you, either for that or anything else. It's not something you can control. You love whom you love." She let out a short 'hmph' of laughter. "If I hated you for loving women, I'd have to hate myself, and _that_ is simply unacceptable."

Hermione's eyes were as wide as saucers, "You…?"

"Yes, dear one," She squeezed at Hermione's captive hand, "I'm … what's the vernacular these days, gay? Have been all my life, although I didn't realize it for some years. You've heard me talk about Morgan, Hermione. Did you really think just any old friend would leave me full access to a vault filled with enough gold to pay for several hundred Apprenticeships as long and expensive as yours?"

Hermione sputtered, "I just never thought about it."

Minerva's eyes acquired a devilish glint, "You're the one always insisting I'm not so very old. Are you insinuating that I'm too old for love?"

"Not at all. I maintain that you're not old, despite whatever numbers you try to throw at me." Hermione had been laughing, but her voice got quiet as she said, "It's just that you've always seemed so alone. You stay here at the school all summer, every summer and every break. We've become quite good friends in the years since the Battle, and this is the first I'm hearing of anything. I've only seen you outside of Hogwarts – or during school at Order Headquarters – a handful of times. I'm sorry that I've misunderstood you all this time."

"Well, Morgan and I don't have the most conventional of relationships, that's true, and I am sad, Hermione. Morgan has always had some sort of very secretive profession, and we usually go several years not being able to see each other, but I haven't heard from her since before the war ended, and I'm worried that she didn't make it. I understand if she's busy with her job and can't get away, but I wish she would just let me know she made it; that she's alive and okay." Minerva stopped walking and took in a ragged breath, gripping tightly to Hermione's hand on her arm. "I think I could handle the idea of never seeing her again, Hermione, if that's what had to happen, as long as she's alive and well. I can't stand the thought of being alive and in the world if she is not." Hot tears spilled over her cheeks, and her eyes closed, trying to fight the overwhelming tide of emotion.

Hermione held her hands tightly to those of her friend, trying to offer strength and what support she had to give. She'd never had the slightest idea of what one of her best friends was going through every day, and she was ashamed to have repeatedly brought her own troubles to Minerva's door.

"Is there anything I can do?" She gently asked, her heart inwardly breaking.

"No, child. There's nothing anybody can do except for Morgan herself." Minerva collected herself and began walking again. They were nearly at the entrance to the castle. "Let's go up for tea and clean ourselves up. Then we'll talk some more, if you wish."

Hermione squeezed Minerva's hand again. "That sounds lovely."

=======================HG/MM=======================

The two women sat in Minerva's rooms for hours, sharing lunch, tea and biscuits later, and much later, dinner. With a new openness, they discussed their respective pasts. Armed with trust, Hermione finally told Minerva about her relationship with Luna in her final year of school. She even grudgingly told her of the few random one-night stands she'd had, not proud of them, but finally feeling free to speak of them. Minerva understood, and said she might have resorted to such activities over the years had her feelings for Morgan not been as strong as they were.

Finally, near to midnight, Hermione used the Floo and went back to the large, empty house on Grimmauld Place. Her heart was still heavy over the pain she'd caused Ron, but there was also a lightness to her, brought about by the new level her relationship with Minerva had reached after they'd admitted their similar proclivities.

Minerva was hurting too much for Hermione to be able to ignore, and she was going to try and fix things between Minerva and Morgan.

But how?

=======================HG/MM=======================

It was Wednesday before she began to have a glimmer of a plan. Mistress O'Neill had taken on another apprentice a year after Hermione. Sally-Anne Perks and Hermione were the same age, and had started Hogwarts the same year, but the two hadn't had much chance to interact. Sally-Anne had been sorted into Ravenclaw, and had been even more withdrawn and solitary than Hermione had been at first.

Sally-Anne's parents had pulled her from Hogwarts after their fourth year, when her cousin Cedric Diggory had been killed by Voldemort the night he returned. After three years of being taught at home, her parents had consented to allow her to return to Hogwarts to properly complete her education. With proper testing, Sally-Anne had been classified as a sixth-year when Hermione had been taking her delayed seventh-year courses.

She didn't have as much interest in Transfiguration as Hermione did, and was pursuing only the one Mastery in Charms, so she was closer to completing hers than Hermione was. She had completed all of her course-work, and was working through the summer to be able to present her final project as soon as possible.

The Apprentice-to-Master process began with theoretical work, concentrating on ethics and how and why spells worked the way they did. Then it moved on to practical work, ensuring that everyone who reached the Master level was able to satisfactorily cast every standard spell taught, both with and without their wand, and both verbally and non-verbally. The studies culminated in the creation of a new spell or item, using the framework provided by all the earlier studies. This creation of a new spell or item was the final project on which Sally-Anne was currently working.

Hermione was nearing that portion of both of her study courses, and didn't know what she wanted to try and create. A conversation with Sally-Anne and Mistress O'Neill that morning started a chain reaction that would cause ripples across the fabric of time itself.

It turned out that Sally-Anne Perks had chosen, for her final project, to create a new Locator Charm. With the eradication of Dementors following Voldemort's defeat, Azkaban was left to be staffed by qualified witches and wizards, and they were simply not as infallible as their predecessors. Without the constant drain of happiness and energy provided by the Dementors, prisoners found that they had more time to concentrate on thinking of ways to escape from the rock, and escape they did, at times. It wasn't terribly frequent, as the prison itself was remote, warded to the gills, and staffed by wizards very well skilled in the arts of keeping prisoners in line.

Now and then, however, someone would get free, and inevitably set out to seek revenge or wreak general havoc. Sally-Anne's aunt had been the unwitting victim of an escapee, and her improved Locator Charm would benefit the prison's guards, as all it required was a bit of hair or anything else which could be used in a Polyjuice potion, and it would give an immediate location, working much like a Muggle GPS chip inserted under the skin, but far more reliable in that while a chip can be surgically removed, one cannot escape their genetic fingerprint.

From this, Hermione had a brilliant idea. She wanted to find Morgan for Minerva, and once Sally-Anne's project was complete, if she could only get a bit of genetic material somehow, she could use the Locator Charm to find Morgan and bring her back.

Her plan was barely formed, and riddled with holes and problems, but it was something.

=======================HG/MM=======================

The following Sunday, Hermione used her day off to find, rent, and move into her own flat in Muggle London. Living frugally with Harry and Ron the last several years left her with a little nest egg, and she made enough at the Ministry, even working only part time, to support herself if she continued being frugal.

The flat wasn't large, and it wasn't luxurious. It was a small two bedroom flat with one tiny bathroom, and a combined kitchen, dining room, and living area. The master bedroom was barely big enough to hold a double bed and had a small closet that nonetheless held all of Hermione's clothing with ease. She was a witch, after all. The second bedroom was very small, but was just large enough to hold her bookshelves and a small reading and writing desk.

Luckily for her, the main area of the flat did have a fireplace, and she had arranged with the Ministry to hook it up to the Floo network. After the war had ended, she'd left Crookshanks at the Burrow. He was happy there, able to chase garden Gnomes to his heart's content, and between his own hunting and Molly's cooking, he was very well-fed. Arthur and Molly enjoyed having him around, and he was becoming spoiled. Hermione couldn't bear to take him away from that, and thus didn't have to worry about pet deposits, or trying to care for him with her very busy schedule.

Every Saturday, unbeknownst to her, Kreacher came in and kept her flat clean, knowing how his Mistress got caught up in her work and studies and would forget to do basic things like laundry or cleaning under the rim of her toilet. She never wondered how things never got dirty, and he never confessed to helping her out. It was his job; his raison d'etre, and he would _not_ allow his Mistress to live in filth if he had anything to say about it.

=======================HG/MM=======================

A month later, she was still working through her plan, trying to figure it all out, but was missing the key ingredient of a way to get some of Morgan's hair or skin or something without letting Minerva in on the plan.

Hermione hadn't had much time to read in the last month, and decided to put her plan-making aside for one night and indulge in her deepest passion by reading the books she'd purchased the day her plan had been hatched.

In one of the two rare tomes that had come in that day, Hermione found the solution to her problems. There was a large portion on time-turners and their creation, and she had a major breakthrough. _That's it. A time-turner. I'll create a new time-turner. I'll improve its range and capabilities, and I'll go back in time for the hair, then bring it back here and cast the Locator Charm and bring Morgan and Minerva back together!_

She sat up most of the night, making notes on how she might be able to acquire the raw materials necessary, and possibilities on how to improve the existing structure of a time-turner to make it do what she needed it to do. From everything she could surmise, it would be a massive feat, requiring both strong charms and transfiguration spells, and if she succeeded, the creation of this new item would serve to satisfy the requirements for completing both of her Masteries.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Getting the materials was more difficult than Hermione had initially expected. When they'd made such a mess of the Time Room in the Department of Mysteries eight years prior, it had taken several Unspeakables to halt the progress of destruction and repair at just the right moment to save a few precious time-turners. Some were still stuck in the endless cycle. Therefore, she was told in no few words that they didn't care what kind of project she was working on, they would not part with even one grain of Sand in their possession. The Ministry did, however, say that if she could get ahold of some sand through other means, they would be able to provide her with one of the expandable chains which were used to allow witches and wizards to wear the standard-issue time-turners around their necks.

So Hermione spoke with Bill Weasley, who used to work in Egypt for Gringotts, and he used some of his contacts to get her a small vial of fresh Sands of Time. Even though it was such a tiny amount, she thought it would be more than enough, although Bill had assured her that if she needed more to let him know. His source was interested in knowing the outcome of her experiments, and had said that whatever she needed would be hers.

The glass which made up the hourglass was just regular glass, and therefore unimportant to the process, basically only delineating how far a traveler could go in the number of turns. It had been proposed over the years that a charm could be built into the creation process to give more control instead of having to turn the glass over and over, but nobody had yet come up with a spell that worked.

The chain which had been promised to her by the Ministry had no effect on how the old turners worked, but was key to the process if a trip required more than one person. That was why they were made to be so expandable; one chain could extend enough to allow up to five people to travel together if necessary.

Working from these initial parameters, Hermione worked with Masters Piliwickle and O'Neill to devise a working method to improve upon the time-turner.

First, the acceptable range needed to be adjusted to allow for travel over many years rather than only a few hours.

Second, there needed to be a way to get back home without having to live the median time. With as far back as Hermione was going to have to jump to accomplish her goal, this was essential.

Third, security measures needed to be in place to prevent the initial traveler from being stuck in the past while someone else used the device to see the future.

Mistress O'Neill was the first to suggest a solution to the first problem. If the grains of Sand were no longer loose, they wouldn't need to be kept inside a glass container, and chances of breakage were greatly reduced, which assisted with the ideas set forth in the third problem.

Hermione came up with the idea to transfigure the Sand into its own glass crystal using the idea of her Charms Mistress. Using plain sand to experiment, she found that she could do the transfiguration only with the addition of strong heat, much like Muggle glass-blowers used to turn sand into works of glass art. Three weeks of trials, and several failed tries finally had Hermione ready to use the real Sand, but she needed to solve the other issues before doing so.

One Sunday meeting at the Burrow, called to celebrate the upcoming birth of Bill and Fleur's third child, resulted in the other two problems being partially solved. Bill had asked about Hermione's progress, and she was complaining that she hadn't been able to find a set of Latin words that closely approximated what she wanted for the Incantations. Having heard the conversation, Fleur suggested she look at other languages, reminding her that while Latin was the normal language used for coming up with spell-words, other languages were equally valid. She even offered that since the Sands came from Egypt, Hermione may want to look at words taken from Egyptian or Arabic.

Elated at the implications, Hermione grabbed Fleur and kissed her for the suggestion, not thinking about the consequences of what she was doing. Everyone had stopped and stared, mostly horrified at what they were seeing. It was an innocent kiss, but it did go on for several seconds, and afterward, Fleur dismissed a blushing Hermione's concerns as the effects of a pregnant witch with Veela heritage, thanking her for a lovely kiss with a subtle wink.

Later, Hermione remembered the kiss with a smile. She'd wondered for years what it would be like to kiss the quarter-Veela, and Fleur had not disappointed.

Looking into both Egyptian and Arabic vocabulary, Hermione finally found the perfect Incantations. The first was _Ausafr_, which was Arabic for "I travel." Having the first of the words, she was able to solve the second problem in full. _Arj_, Arabic for "I return," would allow the original caster to return to the exact time and place from which they left. Putting the words in the tense she did also partially solved the third problem of security. Only the traveler would be able to properly cast _Arj_, as anyone else who tried, would simply return to their own origin; having not used the crystal in the first place, they would remain where they were.

Another month passed, and Hermione finally had a breakthrough on how to solve the final problem of security. In order to use the crystal to return home, the traveler would have to have it on his or her person. However, while in the past, there were far too many ways it could be lost or misplaced, keeping the traveler stuck. She had ordered Muggle takeaway for her dinner, not feeling up to cooking. She'd gone down when her food had arrived, and the young delivery man was riddled with tattoos on every exposed piece of his skin. This had given Hermione an idea. Once _Ausafr_ was cast, the crystal would disappear from the hand, and reappear as a tattoo somewhere on the traveler's body, enabling the return spell to be cast at any time.

In the event that more than one person attempted to make the same trip, the tattoo would appear on each of them so that they could return even if separated in the past, although the physical crystal would only reappear to whoever had been holding it when they departed.

The final problem to be addressed had been resolved. The only thing left to do at that point was to start testing.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Hermione began by creating her trademark Bluebell Flame inside a charmed diamond jar, then changing the mild heat of the Bluebell Flame into Fiendfyre, which burned hot enough to melt the Sands of Time. As she magically formed the crystal from the molten blob, she built in the syntax, the Incantations, the security features, and slowly, the white-hot material changed from a loose disc into a hexagonal bipyramid, solidifying slowly into a crystal that was a soft blue color. Before it could become completely solid, she added a small hole through the center of the crystal, coming down through the two outer points. Another whispered component of the complex set of charms and transfigurations spells caused the golden chain to thread itself through the hole, fixing the crystal in place in the center of the chain.

With a blinding flash, it was finished.

=======================HG/MM=======================

_Saturday 09 October 2004_

It had been nearly four months since her conversation with Minerva following the unwelcome proposal, and Hermione was ready to test her invention for the first time. She'd arranged with Mr. Catalpa to have a Saturday off from her Ministry job in order to have this important first test. In a joint meeting with Master Piliwickle and Mistress O'Neill, they had decided that given its shape, and the fact that it no longer required any turns to work, they would call it a Time Crystal rather than Time-Turner.

The syntax for the Incantations had been written in the format of "Specific Location. Time. Date, Year. _Ausafr!_" For her first test, they agreed that she should attempt to go back only one hour, to a secured location. To prevent skewing of results from foreknowledge, Master Piliwickle was sent ahead to the destination with a Mediwizard, and Mistress O'Neill was with Hermione.

As confident as Hermione was in her abilities and in the work she'd done, she was still a little nervous about the test. Samantha was holding Hermione's hands, reminding her to breathe, assuring her student that her work was solid, and there would be no problems. Hermione looked up into her mentor's shining blue eyes, and caught the sly wink thrown her way, calming down immediately.

She stood up, ready to prove that she was every bit as brilliant as everyone claimed she was. Holding her wand in one hand, tightly gripping the crystal where it hung from the thin golden chain around her neck in the other, she clearly stated the location where Preston was waiting for her, the time as it was an hour ago, and the day's date. With a shouted _Ausafr_, Hermione disappeared without a sound.

An hour earlier, she appeared quietly in front of her Transfiguration Master and the Mediwizard he'd brought in. The Mediwizard, Healer Abstemious White, checked Hermione over carefully and found no adverse effects from the jump. The tattoo had appeared on her left arm, just above the elbow. The crystal was nestled on the inside of her elbow, in the crook of her arm, and the chain wound artfully around her upper arm. Hermione spoke the return incantation, and was met an hour later by both of her Masters and Healer White, who again checked but found that no negative impact had been made.

With the Healer's assessment having been made, there was a happy celebration as the first test was deemed a success.

Over the next three months, Hermione tested the Crystal over longer and longer jumps, finding that the tattoo never moved, no matter how many trips she made. She never had any sort of reaction to a jump, even when she briefly popped in to an empty Grimmauld Place fifteen years back. She'd stayed there only a few minutes, not wanting to be seen by Kreacher or the portrait of Sirius' mum.

Finally, just before Christmas, the Time Crystal was hailed as a complete success, and Transfiguration Master Preston Piliwickle and Charms Mistress Samantha O'Neill were both delighted to present Hermione with her certificates, fully qualifying her as a Mistress of both subjects.

Hermione was pleased with the accomplishment, and now that she knew she could get back to get what she needed, she was ready to do so. Sally-Anne's Locator Charm had been a success as well, so all she needed was to make the jump, get the hair, and come back. She had a week and a half until Christmas, and she thought she had the best Christmas present she could ever give to Minerva: Morgan.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Hermione was making her last-minute preparations to go meet the mysterious Morgan Stewart. In the six months since setting herself on this course, Hermione had subtly worked some details out of Minerva in their meetings. She knew that the first time Minerva and Morgan met, it had been the day after Minerva's twenty-first birthday, and she'd been in Hogsmeade to meet her brothers for a birthday celebration. Minerva had smiled sadly when she said she had been supposed to meet them at one-thirty that afternoon, but that as usual, the boys had been late and that's when she'd met Morgan and changed her life.

Hermione had done extensive research on fashions of the day, and had transfigured some of her old school robes into something that wouldn't look out of place, but would still be comfortable to wear. She'd decided to fix her hair in a simple bun, low on the back of her head, but with a few pieces left loose in the front to artfully arrange to soften the look.

At the last minute, she thought about the paradox that could be created by showing up out of her own time, and employed a few good glamours. She changed the color of her hair from brown to the strange mixture of red and blonde that she remembered having seen on the witch in the bookshop, loosening her curls just a bit, but mostly leaving the texture of her hair alone. She altered the shape of her eyes, tilting the outer corners up just a touch; it was enough to make a difference, but not enough to give the impression of being a different nationality. The point was to blend in, not to stand out.

Deciding that the risks of changing one's eye color wasn't worth the further camouflage it would provide, she left her eyes brown. In a final touch, she lengthened her nose by just a centimeter or two, giving it a perky upturn that made her look distinguished, but not snobby. Height, weight, and body shape were common enough amongst witches that she didn't bother to try and conceal that part of her, thinking the changes to her face would be enough.

The last thing she needed to do was devise a way to talk to Morgan before she met Minerva that day so she could surreptitiously get ahold of a hair or two – hopefully voluntarily – and for that, she pulled out a pristine piece of parchment, and using her best quill, penned a short note, which she would send via owl from the Hogsmeade post office when she arrived.

"_Miss Morgan Stewart,_

_I know you don't know me, but I would appreciate if you could meet me at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade at one o'clock this afternoon to discuss a mutual friend. Many thanks._

_H.G."_

Hoping that the initials wouldn't give anything away if Minerva ever saw the note, she folded the parchment and tucked it into the pocket of her robe before donning the cloak she thought she might need for a Scotland October.

She hadn't had much need to use the Apple-wood wand she'd gotten from Mr. Ollivander before she came back to finish her career at Hogwarts, and decided it would do nicely for this trip.

Her glamours in place, her transfigured clothing on, and the note tucked safely into her pocket, she pulled out the Apple wand and gripped it in her dominant right hand. She reached up with the left to tuck the Time Crystal into its palm. Swallowing nervously, she breathed in and incanted, "Outside the Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade, Scotland. Noon. The Fifth of October, Nineteen Forty-Six. _Ausafr!_"

Her flat was left empty, and she appeared at exactly noon on the specified day, next to the front door of Hogsmeade's Wizarding pub, just as expected.

What she didn't expect was the rush of weakness that washed over her, just as it had when she'd unwisely apparated thousands of miles over the recommended distance all those years ago.

"Shite," she whispered as she fell to the ground in a dead faint, her head cracking on the stone steps leading into the pub.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Hexagonal Bipyramid: Two six-sided pyramids, stuck together at the bases. Basically, imagine the PlumbBob from the Sims, only shorter and a bit wider around.

Sorry for putting so much of this in exposition, but I tried to keep the process intact without delving too deeply into the conversations responsible for each individual breakthrough. I've tried to keep as much of the magical theory I've concocted in here as possible, but it would have taken too much time to write out each conversation and realization in real-time, so I've glossed over what I could, leaving in the really important bits. I hope it doesn't disappoint.

If you're interested in the red-haired witch's hair color and style (which Hermione later partially ganked), my reference picture is at hollibee dot com slash pics. From there, click the one marked SWTTmorganhair. There are a couple pics in there labeled as SWTTsam that you might be interested in if you haven't seen or heard of SG-1 and want to know what Mistress Samantha O'Neill looks like.

One last item to be addressed: Minerva's age. The HP Lexicon has Minerva's birth year as 1925, and I hold to that. With the addition of the biography on Pottermore, it seems as though Jo meant for her to actually have been born in 1935, but I've always thought of Minerva as having been a peer of Tom Riddle, and a 1925 birth puts her one year above him in school, and Head Girl the year before he was Head Boy. It has her leaving Hogwarts in 1944, and able to therefore help in the end of the fight against Grindelwald, which I've always had in my headcanon. Yes, this makes her another decade older than Hermione, but with the Wizarding world aging the way they do in my world, it doesn't matter that much. So in this fic (and in all of my fics), she was born in 1925, not 1935, making her age 21 in 1946. The rest of what I've changed in her past will be explained as the story continues.

Thank you all for your support. It means so much.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.

Yep. Hell of a cliffhanger. I know. You all hate me now, don't you? I'm sorry!

In preparation, Mairead is pronounced "mah RAYD", which rhymes with "parade", and is the Gaelic form of Margaret.

May 2014 bring each of you a newness and understanding that you did not have in 2013. Let us all take a cup of kindness together, assuredly remembering our days of 'auld lang syne', but also remembering to think to the future and how we can change things for the better, one tiny step at a time.

(And if you've never heard Dougie MacLean's version of Auld Lang Syne, please, for the love of Merlin, look it up on YouTube. It's beautifully haunting and perfect.)

This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Hermione woke an hour later lying on a cot in the back room of the Three Broomsticks, being attended by a woman she didn't know. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties, and had long, wispy blonde hair, kind violet eyes, and a perfectly bow-shaped mouth. "There, there, lass. Glad to see you're finally awake, Miss Stewart."

Hermione tried to speak, but found that she couldn't. "Oh, don't try to talk yet, Miss. We had a Healer around and he said this happens sometimes after a long-distance apparition. You must have come from very far indeed. My name is Mairead, and I run the Three Broomsticks. You'll pardon us, but we looked in your pockets for identification, found a letter, and have been referring to you by the name we found there." She looked up at the clock on the wall. "Oh dear, it's a quarter past one. You've missed your meeting. I don't know who this HG is, but I expect they can reschedule."

She looked at the bartender oddly, not knowing who Miss Stewart or HG were. Mairead pressed the letter into Hermione's hand, along with her wand. She looked down at the unfamiliar items. She tried again to say something, but was still unable to make even a small sound.

Mairead made a tutting sound. "None of that, now. If you're so desperate to say something, I'll bring you a pen and paper, but the Healer said no talking for another half-hour if this happened." Hermione nodded. "Oh, aye. I'll bring it in a moment, but I need to check on my customers first. Back in a tick, lovey."

With a swish, Mairead left Hermione alone in the small room. Slowly, Hermione sat up, reaching back to press her hand to the tenderness at the crown of her head. Pain exploded outward from the spot, causing black stars to appear behind her eyelids. _Right. Don't do that again._ She waited for a minute before opening her eyes again, and when she found that it no longer hurt to use them, she took the opportunity to look around the room in which she'd been placed.

It wasn't very large, but was mostly filled with crates and barrels, and smelled of wood, straw, and alcohol. She was seated on a cot set between a stack of two ale barrels on one side and a short side-table with a lantern brightly flickering on the other. She was facing an open door-frame, halfway between sitting and lying down. She finished sitting up, and reached around to prop the heavy down-filled pillow against the wall, scooting backward to recline against it with her legs outstretched under a blanket in front of her.

Upright and comfortable, Hermione took stock of herself. Her hair had come loose from its bun, likely when the Healer had examined her, and she didn't put it back up, fearing pain from the pressure of pulling against her bruised scalp. She did silently cast a detangling spell, causing her hair to fall around her face in gentle curls, feeling better for looking presentable. She picked up the letter the blonde woman had given her and read through it several times, trying to make sense of it. Was she this Miss Stewart, as the other woman had called her? Was she the mysterious HG? Who was the friend mentioned? She couldn't remember a thing apart from a wide variety of spells and charms.

Mairead had been gone for about ten minutes when a little girl toddled into the room and crawled up on the cot with Hermione. She was a beauty of a baby with lovely blonde curls and bright blue eyes. She looked Hermione over and pressed her small hand against the silent witch's cheek. Still unable to speak, Hermione decided to entertain the toddler. With her right hand, she gripped the wand that had been given to her, and she cast a few charms non-verbally, making the wand spout pastel-colored stars and butterflies from its tip. The child giggled at first, but was soon bored. Changing her tactics, Hermione started making funny faces of all sorts, crossing her eyes and uncrossing them, then twisting her features into comical shapes, getting a bit of help from her wand, unconsciously mimicking the antics with which Tonks used to entertain her and her friends.

It was a fair bit of transfiguration, but the little girl was having so much fun with it, and the laughter was infectious. Hermione soon found that she was laughing along, not at all realizing that sound was once again leaving her throat.

While all this had been going on, Minerva McGonagall had arrived at the pub to meet her brothers for her birthday. Since the boys were running late, as usual, Mairead had asked her for a favor. "Do you think you could track down Rosie for me? She's gotten away from me again, and I'm running a bit behind."

"Certainly, Madam Mairead. As I was supposed to have met my brothers at one-thirty, I suspect it'll be closer to two-thirty before they arrive." Her lips quirked to the side in a slight smile, and the two women shared a short laugh before Minerva set out to track down three-year old Rosmerta.

Following the sound of laughter, she was surprised to see the focus of her search sitting on the lap of a strange woman. She watched them in silence for several minutes, leaning against the door frame, impressed with the magic the young woman was doing, especially as it seemed she was doing it all non-verbally. Minerva was mesmerized by the sound of the red-head's laughter, and it was making her feel uncomfortable in a strange way.

"Miss Stewart?" Mairead's voice came from behind Minerva, causing her to stiffen and stand with perfect posture, as her father had always taught her. "Oh, Miss McGonagall, have you located Rosie yet?"

Minerva turned to face the barkeep, "Yes, Madam, she's in here with – did you say Miss Stewart? They seem to be getting along famously."

Hermione stopped her antics, replacing a yellow-orange bird's beak with her own mouth, and stared up at the black-haired witch. Her eyes widened. The woman in the doorway was beautiful, and another twinge of memory came back, insisting that she liked women and this one was quite desirable. She smiled at Minerva, with a look that she somehow knew was a quiet seductress; a smile and look that she used to feel out whether a woman would be receptive to her advances.

Her heavily lidded eyes raked down the standing body, starting with the long black hair, tied into a loose braid that had swung to half-way down her back when she'd turned to talk to the innkeeper. Brilliant deep green eyes met her gaze straight-on, and her perusal stopped its course for a second before tearing away to brush over thin lips, and down past the alabaster skin of her neck to the light-weight black and blue robes she wore.

The robes were tightly fitted in the bodice and came up to a high collar, then down to long sleeves. Hermione took a moment to visually appreciate what she could see was lying underneath those fitted robes, and could almost see the tender skin tightening up through the fabric. The skirt flowed generously below the waist and fell to nearly meet the floor, shiny black boots peeking out from beneath the hem. She wished she could see the legs that she just knew were quite shapely, but the loose skirt hid them well. She glanced upward again, and saw breath hitch in Minerva's chest as she passed back over perfect breasts and came back to rest at the sea of green waiting in a flushed face.

_Oh yes. She's receptive. She may not know it yet, but she definitely is._ Her tongue darted out to moisten lips that were suddenly parched, and she could feel the other woman's eyes as they were drawn to look.

Minerva stood still in the doorway, finding it hard to breathe as this woman on the bed took huge visual liberties with her person. She met the honey-colored gaze, astonished at the depths she could see into Hermione's soul. There were tingles wherever the eyes moved, and Minerva was disturbed to feel her nipples stiffening from no more than a look. There was an uncomfortable feeling building in the pit of her belly, and her temperature was quickly rising. She wasn't sure what was going on; the only time she'd ever felt anything remotely like this was when she'd received Dougal's proposal three years earlier. Surely she couldn't be feeling anything like that desire over a woman, could she? The feelings got more intense as the tingles passed back over her breasts, and she gasped, her eyes drawn back to pink lips as a tongue flicked out for a second.

"Oh." Fell from Hermione's lips, and she was surprised to hear the noise coming from her throat finally, not realizing it was a pitch lower than normal and husky from temporary damage of the Time Crystal. "I can speak again! Excellent. Though I can't remember it, I'm told my name is Stewart." She decided to go with being Morgan Stewart rather than the initialed sender of the note. If she'd been planning to send the note, why would she have chosen to do it so close to the proposed meeting time? It made more sense for her to have been the recipient. "Morgan Stewart." She stashed her wand under her thigh and reached her hand out. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss…?"

Social niceties took over and the flush began to recede as Minerva stepped forward and reached her own hand out to shake the outstretched one. "Minerva McGonagall. The pleasure's all mine, I'm sure." The two women gently shook once, twice, three times, and their hands were released. "You can't remember your name?"

"No, nor anything else, apparently." Morgan felt like it should bother her more than it was that she couldn't remember. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was screaming against modified or missing memories, but she calmed the screaming voice by thinking that if she hadn't had these injuries, she wouldn't have met this beautiful and charming (and receptive!) witch, and that would have been the bigger tragedy. She assured the screaming voice that her memories would come back eventually, hopefully sooner rather than later.

At this statement, Mairead squeezed past Minerva to come back into the room. She bent down and scooped up her giggling daughter, who settled her head against her mother's breast, resting on her hip, safe and warm in Mairead's embrace. "You can't remember who you are?" The blonde innkeeper inquired with worry in her voice. "Oh dear, mayhap we should get the Healer back. 'Tis an awful thing to lose sight of who you are."

She turned to face Minerva. "Could you go and fetch Healer Clark? He's the elderly gentleman sitting near the fireplace with a dreadful purple cap."

"Of course, Madam. I won't be a moment." Minerva ducked back through the door and set out for the main room of the inn for the Healer. _What in the world was that?_ She was still feeling a tingle low in her belly, and wanted nothing in the world so much as she wanted the sensation of the red-head's lips against her own. She'd only ever kissed Dougal when they were courting the summer after she left Hogwarts, and then only a couple of times. His lips had been cool and dry against hers, and his beard had scratched against her cheek in a way she hadn't liked much. She hadn't seen where the appeal had lain, but she couldn't stop imagining what _her_ smooth cheeks and full lips would feel like moving against her own. _This is an unnatural and wrong line of thought, Minerva McGonagall. Girls aren't meant to kiss other girls like that._ But if that were true, what had that look been about?

She reached the main room and located the elderly man in the ghastly purple cap. She leaned down and asked, "I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but Madam Òstairean is asking for you in the back room."

"Certainly. I suppose the patient has woken up." He downed the rest of his pint of ale in two gulps before pushing away from the table and standing. Minerva scanned the room, but didn't see any signs of her brothers, so she chose to follow the Healer back to make sure the stranger was going to be fine.

He checked Morgan out, feeling around the sore spot on her head with his fingers, and casting several diagnostic spells. "You seem to be quite healthy. Your magical reserves are pretty depleted, which I suspect is from a long-distance apparition. The amnesia likely stems from the head wound, and should clear itself up within a day or so. I see no signs of any fractures to your skull, but you'll want to keep an eye out for bleeding or clear fluids leaking from your nose or ears, or a coppery taste in your mouth, which could indicate delayed bleeding in your brain. You'll probably have a headache for a couple of days, and that's perfectly normal, but if you show any signs of extreme fatigue or confusion, or if you become nauseated or vomit, or if you do start to leak fluids, either clear or bloody, from any orifice on your head, send for me or another Healer right away.

"I don't foresee any of these complications, but you should probably not be left alone tonight, just on the off-chance that something happens." He looked at the room's other occupants. "Can either of you watch over her tonight? I would ask her to stay with a friend or family member, but as she can't remember anything of who she is, it wouldn't do much good."

"I can provide her with a room for a couple nights," Mairead spoke up, "but between running this place and trying to keep up with Rosie, I can't sit with her. I may be able to find someone who can."

Minerva was thinking about meeting her brothers, but had nothing else planned for the weekend other than catching up on her reading, which she could do while keeping watch over the mysterious witch. Hopefully it would allow them to get to know each other better at the same time.

"I can do it. I have to meet with Malcolm and Rob whenever they decide to grace me with their presence, but that shouldn't take more than an hour or so, and after that, I can stay with her." Her soft voice struck a chord in Morgan's heart, who was wondering if it was wise to accept the offer, but not having any other option.

"Well then, it's all settled," Healer Clark put the matter to rest, accepting for her.

"My thanks to all of you. You're all being so kind to someone you never met before today." Morgan felt incredibly grateful. "I don't seem to have any money with me, but as soon as my brain sorts itself out and I'm able to access my funds, I will be sure to pay my debts."

"No need, dear one. I usually have a spare room or two upstairs, so you're not costing me a thing." Mairead smiled down at Morgan kindly, hugging Baby Rosmerta closer. A shout rang out from the front room, and a grimace replaced the smile. "I'd better get back out there. It's a student weekend, and my part time helper will be swamped with the invasion."

"I could keep Rosie if you want." Morgan surprised herself with the offer.

The kind smile returned to Mairead's face. "Thank you, but no, she'll be fine in there with me. You need your rest, dear one. If you need anything, you know where I'll be." She ran her hand over Morgan's head, then turned and hurried back to mind the bar.

"I should be going as well. Mairead knows how to get in touch with me if anything happens." He looked at Morgan and Minerva both, and Minerva nodded curtly.

"I shall make sure to send for you right away if anything happens," she promised.

"Very good." He turned back to Morgan. "Whenever you feel up to it, you may get up, but take things easy, and if you get at all dizzy, sit down immediately and let it pass. If the dizziness does not pass, send for me. I'll be back in the morning to check on you."

"Thank you again, sir. I appreciate everything you've done for me."

"Of course, of course. It's nothing. I'll see you in the morning." He touched a hand to his purple cap, making the puffy point dangle over his ear, then turned and left the two young witches alone.

There was an awkward silence in the room for a moment before Minerva broke it by asking, "Did you want to try and get up? Being trapped in bed for so long would make me crazy."

"Oh. Sure. I'm certainly not used to being still this long." Morgan pushed the blanket back, revealing a glimpse of her legs, covered in black tights, before she smoothed her skirt back down to cover them. She swung her legs over the edge of the cot, and Minerva reached out to offer a steadying hand as she stood. Morgan stumbled lightly, gripping tightly to the proffered hand, a wave of light dizziness washing over her before dissipating.

"Are you alright?" Minerva's face and voice both showed worry when Morgan stumbled. She quite liked the feel of the older witch's hand in hers, although she knew it was completely inappropriate to think of that when the woman was in distress.

"Yes, I think I'll be fine now. The dizziness has passed." She flashed a brilliant smile at the dark-haired woman, not letting go of her hand. She didn't want the contact to end, but knew it must. She squeezed Minerva's hand lightly before releasing it. With a couple quick movements of her wand, the cot was folded up and neatly put away. She tucked her letter back into the pocket of her outer robe, and slid her wand back into its sheath at her waist. She was at a loss as to what to do next.

"I need to go and see if my brothers are here yet. Would you like to walk with me? I'm sure they would be delighted to meet you, though I'll warn you that they're both teenage boys, and rambunctious ones at that." Minerva smiled as she made the offer, knowing Morgan wouldn't have anything else to do, and wanting to spend more time with her.

"Thank you, that sounds lovely." Morgan gratefully accepted, and the two witches left the back room, walking slowly to be sure Morgan didn't have a relapse.

=======================HG/MM=======================

They had a lovely afternoon. When they'd come out of the back room, Malcom and Rob had been sitting down with a drink, but stood immediately when the two women approached their table.

Seventeen-year-old Ravenclaw Malcolm and Fifteen-year-old Slytherin Robert Junior, called Rob for short, were all politeness and manners, both trying desperately to impress Morgan, but getting nowhere in the end with her, assuming she was spoken for by another fellow her own age. Neither of them noticed the surreptitious glances that Morgan and Minerva threw at each other when they didn't think the other was looking. Morgan kept finding ways to brush her hand or arm against Minerva's, feeling like it was something that had once been done to her, pleasantly surprised when she found the gestures were being returned.

The four of them wandered around the village for a while, until it was time for the boys to head back up to school. Morgan had no memory of having attended Hogwarts, but felt very nostalgic when they reached the open gates, her hand mindlessly drifting over the cold iron bars fondly.

A piece of a memory surfaced at the touch, of being alone in the cold dark; another of waiting for someone here with heartbreak bubbling through her mental shields. This was a very important place for her, but she couldn't remember why. A gentle hand on her shoulder brought her out of her reverie. "Are you okay, Morgan?" Minerva's voice was low and quiet and very soothing.

"Yes, I'm fine." Morgan let go of the gate, turning to smile sadly at her new friend. The hand on her shoulder slid down her arm to rest at the wrist.

"Malcolm and Rob went back up. You looked a bit lost for a moment, and they didn't want to disturb you. Are you sure you're well? No dizziness or anything?" Minerva's voice was rife with concern. She hadn't known Morgan very long, but she already cared for the other woman.

"No," she slipped her wrist through the hand holding it and dared to turn her own hand inside its grip, twining their fingers together tightly. "No dizziness. Just a flash of a memory having to do with the gates and waiting here for someone." She was surprised when the hand-holding wasn't rejected. Instead, Minerva tightened her own hold on Morgan's hand.

"It must be incredibly frustrating to have your whole life wiped out like that," Minerva shuddered lightly. "I can't even imagine it."

"It's not the best thing that's ever happened to me, but somehow I doubt it's the worst, either." Her brow furrowed at another half-remembered set of memories. "Was there a war or something like it recently? I have these impressions of times much worse than a day or two spent not remembering."

"Aye, there was a war. We had one here in the Wizarding world, and there was one going in the Muggle world at the same time. It all only ended last year. It was a pretty grim time, and I suspect you're right that there are things in war that are far worse than a lacking memory." Minerva answered darkly, remembering the year she spent fighting with the resistance.

"War brings out the best and worst in people." Morgan couldn't remember where the quote came from, but felt it was eerily applicative.

"Aye." They stood there, both lost in thought, both forgetting that they were holding hands. Morgan's thumb was lightly brushing over the back of Minerva's where they met. The sun was beginning to sink below the trees, and it would soon be dark.

"We should get back to the inn," Morgan said softly, breaking the moment. The gamekeeper, Ogg, could be seen coming to ensure the gates were properly closed up after the students' return from Hogsmeade.

Minerva squeezed the hand in hers. "We should." Not letting go, she turned to face away from the gates, and together, hands still tightly clasped together between them, they slowly made their way back down toward town and the Three Broomsticks.

When they reached the front door, Morgan regretfully let Minerva's hand go, and they shared a brief look of longing before going inside.

Mairead was happy to see them back before nightfall, and set them each up with a plate of a thick stew, a rustic hunk of warm bread, and a pint of ale for their supper before sending them up to ensure the room would be satisfactory.

Morgan didn't know why there would be a problem until she walked through the door. The room was smallish, and was dominated by a double bed in the center of the far wall. She stopped in her tracks, the unexpected maneuver causing Minerva to bump into her back with a soft exclamation. "What in the…?" The taller witch muttered before seeing the bed. "Oh."

Morgan took a couple steps forward and to the side, allowing Minerva to finish entering the room and close the door behind them. "Will that be a problem for you? I could probably split it and make the two halves into singles, but …"

Minerva cut her off with a whispered, "No," pausing for a second. "It won't be a problem. I've had to share before, and smaller than that. War makes many things necessary." She didn't add that she'd only had to share a cot once. They'd both been exhausted and filthy following Grindelwald's final arrest, and had slept with their heads at opposite ends. She'd never considered having to be thankful for an old man's obsession with clean socks before that night.

Morgan sensed the truth behind her words, but with the chemistry and touches that had been flying between them all afternoon, she didn't know if she could trust herself. She also didn't want to pass up this chance to sleep beside her soft warmth. "If you're sure, then."

"I'm sure." Minerva smiled shyly. "I'm just going to pop back to my flat and pick up a few things for the night. I'll be back soon." She turned around to exit the room, missing the bereft look Morgan shot her way.

The door closed behind her, and Morgan was again left alone with her thoughts and not much more. Having nothing better to do, she removed her outer robe, hanging it on one of the pegs beside the door, and began inspecting the room. She pulled back the blanket and found that while clean, the sheets were made of some subpar cloth, so she transfigured them into the cool soft cotton she preferred. The thin blanket was changed into a thick, cushy quilt. The pillows were fine, but got a quick fluff the Muggle way, and she conjured up a small vial of essential oils, combining lemon and a couple earthy herbal scents, and sprinkled a couple drops on each pillow, making them smell nice. Vanishing the leftovers, she made the bed back up, turning down the quilt, and was about to go back downstairs to ask Mairead if she had any books when the door opened and Minerva swept back in with a large carpetbag in hand.

"I'm back!" She announced, closing the door behind her and setting the bag down on the end of the bed. "I brought a spare nightgown for you, and some books and things to help keep us occupied until we're ready to sleep." Minerva was bustling about industriously, removing her cloak and outer robe and hanging them beside Morgan's on the pegs. She opened the bag, pulling out two long white nightgowns, both with long sleeves and high necklines, very modest. These she laid on the end of the bed, before delving back into the bag and pulling out a selection of books. She looked around, but couldn't see anywhere to set them.

Seeing the problem, Morgan unsheathed her wand again and quickly conjured up a small wooden table and two chairs, placing them in the corner beneath one of the hanging lanterns. She sheathed her wand and went back to straightening the quilt, unaware that Minerva was watching her intensely. Conjuration was a very advanced part of her Transfiguration courses, and one she had not reached yet at the start of her second year as an Apprentice. Yet Morgan had just done it without thinking or hesitating. _She must be at least in her fourth year of a Transfiguration Mastery to conjure something so easily, and non-verbally!_ "I'm impressed. Not many could conjure such a beautiful table and chairs with so little effort." She set the stack of books on top of the table, admiring the polished patina of the dark wood, noticing intricate filigreed patterns along the rim of the table and along the back and sides of the chairs, which also had soft cushions on the seats.

"Hmm?" Morgan looked up. "Oh, I don't know. I can't remember anything of myself or my history, but I seem to remember every spell and charm I've ever learned." She shrugged off the compliment. "It's not much, and you needed somewhere to put the books."

"It may not be much to you, but I couldn't conjure any of it, much less anything so detailed and beautiful, so I'll remain impressed with your abilities." Minerva sounded indignant that someone could be so casual about being able to do such advanced magic.

Morgan laughed lightly, "Be impressed then. I feel certain that I wasn't always nearly such an impressive person, but it's nice to be able to surprise someone."

Minerva got over her indignation quickly, and the two settled into the comfortable chairs Morgan had conjured, reading from the book selection, and discussing their reading periodically. Mairead came up to check on them once, surprised to see the table and chairs, but thinking they made a nice addition to the room. She brought them a bottle of the slightly-alcoholic Gillywater that was favored by young witches at that time and a couple of glasses. After ensuring that neither of them needed anything else, she took her leave for the night, saying she needed to get Rosie down.

They shared a couple of glasses of the teal-colored drink, Morgan enjoying the combination of raspberry and coconut flavors, not remembering if she'd ever had Gillywater before. There wasn't much alcohol in the drink, but it loosened them up just a bit, getting rid of the last bit of residual tension caused by their mutual attraction and the knowledge that they would shortly be sharing a bed.

When the time came for them to sleep, Morgan got up first, going down the hall to the restroom shared by all the rooms on this floor to relieve herself and wash her face. She took the old-fashioned nightgown with her, but after slipping into it, a look into the long mirror made her laugh loudly. The sleeves came down a normal length, but then had another three inches of lace for a cuff that completely covered her hands. The neckline was so high and tight that it brushed uncomfortably around her neck, and the hem dragged the floor, a good four inches too long.

Pulling out her wand yet again, she removed the lace from the cuffs, and shortened the sleeves to just above her elbow. She opened the neck so that it wasn't so tight, and lowered it to halfway between the base of her neck and the tops of her breasts. As for the length, she brought it up to mid-thigh, and picked up the tights from her own clothes, transfiguring them into loose cotton pajama bottoms, slipping them on under the shortened nightgown.

She turned her skirt into a bathrobe, slipping it over the modified nightwear and going back to their room. Minerva had taken advantage of being alone in the room to slip into her own unmodified gown, and Morgan smirked when she noticed the lacy hemline just brushing the taller witch's feet. However, she was still beautiful, even locked behind the restrictive collar and long sleeves. Morgan stashed her pile of clothing on the chair she'd been using, and removed the transfigured robe, hanging it on one of the pegs. She noticed Minerva had done the same with her clothes, the carpetbag having been tucked under the chair.

She was still carrying her wand, and began looking for a place to put it while she slept. Not seeing anywhere convenient, she conjured up a small nightstand, and placed her glass on it, conjuring up some cold water with a silent _Aguamenti_ and filling the glass with it.

"Do you suppose I could get one of those tables on this side? I haven't made it that far into my conjuration studies yet." Minerva's soft voice asked shyly from the left side of the bed where she'd been getting ready.

"Oh, of course. Sorry I didn't think about it before." She quickly did as she was asked, summoning the other glass and filling it with cold water as well, before sending it to the other table.

"Thanks. I, uh, like the changes you made to your clothes. It looks much more you than what I have on." Minerva placed her wand on the table and sat on the edge of the bed, on top of the quilt.

"You think so?" She glanced back down over the outfit. "I've never been one for restrictive sleepwear, or at least I don't think I have." Morgan cast a quick detangling spell on her hair before setting her wand on the table. She reached up and quickly braided her hair, magically tying it off when she reached the bottom. Minerva's hair was in a similar plait, but secured with a bit of white ribbon.

Reaching down to pull the quilt back, Morgan got into the bed, tucking her feet just under the edge of the covers, her knees pulled up in front of her, as she leaned back against the headboard. She was nervous about what she might do while they slept, hoping she would be able to keep her distance and not make Minerva uncomfortable. She was ridiculously attracted to the younger witch, and didn't want to mess things up by moving too fast.

"I've not thought about it much, but the collar may be a little tight at that." Minerva smiled, and stood to pull the covers back on her side of the bed, lying down on her left side to face Morgan's side of the bed, tugging the quilt up to rest just below the bottom of her ribs. Morgan slid down into the bed, and turned to face Minerva, her left hand reaching for the tight collar. She ran her fingers along the top hem, magically lengthening the fabric, her fingers warm as they glided also across the skin of Minerva's neck, able to feel the quickening pulse under her touch.

The gentle caress was making Minerva's belly tingle again, as it had when Morgan's eyes had devoured her body earlier in the day. Her breaths were shortening, her pulse was racing, and as she stared into the brown eyes across from her own, she could see them darkening, the pupils growing larger, unaware that hers were doing the same thing. She reached a hand up to grab Morgan's hand, halting the progress of the fingers on her neck. She croaked out a whisper, "Why does it feel like that when you touch me? I've never felt like this before, and it's scaring me."

"What does it feel like?" Morgan eased her head forward on the pillow, slowly bringing it closer to Minerva's.

"You make me feel hot and cold at the same time. I feel like I'm on the edge of a great cliff, and if you but asked me, I would jump off and fall to my death. If only you asked. My heart is pounding, I find it hard to breathe, and if you stopped touching me, I feel as though I would die on the spot. Either way, I feel like my death is imminent, but _I don't care_." Her eyes closed, unable to maintain the contact, and a tear fell from the corner of her eye to fall across her cheek before being absorbed into the pillow beneath her head. "I should care, but I don't. How is this possible? You're a _girl_."

"I am. I can't change that, Min." Morgan moved her hand up to cup a soft cheek, brushing her thumb along the closed eyelid with its impossibly long lashes. Minerva was still holding to that hand, and when Morgan's head pressed against her own, their foreheads meeting, she let go of it and reached over to cradle the red-head's cheek.

"I can't change that I'm a girl, and I can't change that I like women romantically," Morgan whispered, her breath warm as she spoke, her eyes closing, "and I can't change the fact that I'm attracted to you. You're beautiful, and you're smart, and you're incredibly kind. You shared your family-time today with a complete stranger, and have given up your own plans for the night to stay with me. From what you've just told me, it seems like you feel the same attraction to me, and I would really like to test the theory by kissing you, but I don't want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable." She opened her eyes just as Minerva did the same, and shining brown met brilliant green in an intensely intimate gaze.

"I've never felt anything like this for a girl, and it's confusing, but," Minerva paused to swallow nervously, "I think I'd like to try." She started angling her head closer, and as her nose brushed against Morgan's, green eyes closed again, followed quickly by brown, and then their lips met. They were still for a moment, and then Morgan started to move her lips across Minerva's. Her hand slid back from soft cheek to tangle in the strands of a coal-black braid.

Minerva's hand followed suit, her lips on fire where they were being gently caressed. She felt a nip at her bottom lip, and parted her tingling lips, allowing the more experienced witch to deepen the kiss, softly gliding her tongue along her own, feeling the flames ignite with every touch, hesitantly meeting the movements, growing bolder with every thrust.

She was thrown off-balance when she felt Morgan pull back, ending the contact. Her eyes fluttered open to search the face in front of her, breathing erratically. She could see Morgan's chest heaving as well. She licked at her swollen lips reflexively, noticing the red-head doing the same. "Well?" The husky voice came out of nowhere.

"Well what?" Minerva asked, confused and unable to think properly. That had been some kiss.

"You said you wanted to try it," Morgan explained, her eyes fixated on Minerva's thin lips, made plump by her kiss. "What did you think? Better or worse than you thought?"

"Oh," Minerva found herself blushing. "Better. Much better." She breathed out, "I think it was perfect."

"So do I." Morgan couldn't remember her past, but she felt like that sweet, gentle kiss had been the one she'd been waiting for her entire life. "Nobody else will ever live up to that kiss, Min. I think you've quite ruined me for other people."

Minerva liked knowing that she hadn't been the only one so affected, but she frowned slightly at part of what had been said. "I don't normally allow anyone to shorten my name."

"Do you really mind, Min?" Morgan liked the spots of color that rose on her bed-partner's face as she used the nick-name again, and vowed to never use her full name when they were alone ever again.

Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times, flummoxed by the question. "I … no. For you, I don't think I do." She leaned forward to press a quick kiss to Morgan's cheek, pleased to see the smile disappear when she brought her head back.

"Good, for I'll never call you anything else." She trailed her hand across Minerva's cheek before running it down the arm leading to where the other woman's hand was still tightly gripping her hair, pulling it free before placing a kiss into its palm and releasing it back to its owner. "I think it's time for some sleep now, don't you?" She turned onto her back, settling into her pillow.

Minerva was confused, but did agree that she needed to sleep. It was just such an abrupt change. Was she supposed to turn her back to Morgan and ignore her for the rest of the night? Supposed to stay as she was? She heard Morgan whisper, "_Nox_," at the lanterns, darkening the room before whispering again, "Come here."

Minerva slid closer to the shorter witch and felt as a strong right arm wrapped around her own shoulders, snuggling them together. She laid her head on a shoulder, draping her arm across the slim waist, reaching to weave their hands together. Morgan's right hand began caressing her side, running gently up and down along her ribs, barely touching, but comforting with the contact.

Tucking her head into the hollow of Morgan's neck, she could feel a kiss pressed against the top of her head, followed by the softness of a cheek in her hair. Lulled by the _thump-thump_ of Morgan's heartbeat, and the gentle motions of her breathing, Minerva soon fell asleep. Morgan drifted off soon after, their hands still entwined.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Morgan woke late the next morning, and found herself alone. As she went to sit up, a wave of dizziness washed over her, bringing with it all of her memories. Her brain in shock as everything melded together, she fainted.

Several minutes later, she woke again, her mind fully intact, having combined the memories of Hermione Granger and Morgan Stewart into one seamless stream of her life. _Oh. Oh god. I'm Morgan. I've made myself into Minerva's Morgan._ Her eyes closed in a hard wince, thinking about the events of the previous day, whispering, "Oh fuck," to herself. _I've really put myself in the shit this time. It's not as though I've never imagined kissing Minerva before, but the reality was so much better than I'd ever thought, and oh god I apparently show up over and over again in the next sixty years, and I'm the love of her life and I cause her So. Much. Pain. What have I __**done**__?_

Hermione reached for her wand, casting a spell to check her magic levels. _40-percent? I've never been this drained before._ A quick bit of math sketched in the air using magical script, much like the ones the Diary-Horcrux's Tom Riddle had used to show Harry his name's anagram, and Hermione closed her eyes again. It would take another two weeks to replenish her stores to be sure she safely made it back home. "Two weeks," she said to herself, noting that her regular voice was back, and not the husky one she'd been forced into using the day before as Morgan. Luckily, she knew how to replicate the effects, as voice transfiguration had been part of her last year's studies.

She was exceedingly thankful that her glamours had stayed in place the whole time. However, she hadn't planned for two weeks in 1946, and she hadn't brought any spare clothes or money, and while Mairead had been very kind to offer her a room the night before, she couldn't impose on her hospitality for that long.

Hermione scrambled from the bed, transfiguring her clothes into something appropriate, and different from what she'd worn the day before. She undid her braid, fixing her hair back into the loose bun it had been in when she left 2004. She laid out the nightgown and undid all the changes she'd made to it, leaving it draped on the foot of the bed.

She didn't know what she was going to do about Minerva, about money, about a place to stay. For once, she had no contingency plans. While she certainly knew people who were alive in this time, none of them had the slightest idea who she was. Her parents wouldn't be born for another few years, and how would she have explained that in the first place? Especially knowing how they would feel about her and magic in fifty years.

She slumped into one of the chairs she'd conjured the night before, pouring half a glass of the Gillywater and gulping it down quickly. She could find the cave Sirius had used, perhaps. She had enough magical ability to make it livable, and she knew how and where to harvest wild food, thanks to her time on the run with Harry and Ron. She could make it two weeks like that if she needed to, but it didn't solve the problem of what to do with Minerva.

Unconsciously, her fingers reached up to trace her lips as she thought about Minerva and their kiss. _Gods, it was the perfect kiss._ She hadn't truly known when it happened, but she'd told the absolute truth: That kiss had ruined her for anyone else. Which, when she thought about what she knew about the two of them from future-Minerva, was probably a good thing. _Who knew that my closest friend as an adult would end up being the love of my life? Minerva knew, of course, but she didn't know it was me._ This would end up being the biggest secret she'd ever have to keep.

Remembering a long-ago conversation regarding secrets in relationships, Hermione felt like crying. As far into the future as 2004, Minerva had no idea that Morgan and Hermione were the same person, and if she had sixty years of visits to make with this kind of downtime between trips, there was no way to know how long Hermione would be keeping the truth from her friend, and at some future point, lover.

Hermione sat and worried for a while, then Minerva came back and solved all her problems. When she realized that Morgan had regained her memories, but still had nowhere to go until her magic was restored, she offered the spare room in her flat. Dumbledore was serving as her financial benefactor, much as Morgan had served as Hermione's in the future, and once that realization hit her, it was all Hermione could do to not laugh. She'd paid for her own education and hadn't even known it.

Dumbledore was doing a bit more than Hermione had allowed Minerva to do, however, and was providing her with a place to live, as well as a monthly stipend so that she could concentrate on her education without having to work. She had a small two-bedroom flat in a quiet part of London, and the spare bedroom was barely used.

Knowing that a relationship between them was, at this point, inevitable, Hermione graciously accepted the offer. The two women gathered up all their belongings and packed everything into the carpetbag Minerva had brought with her. Hermione vanished the additional furniture she'd conjured, and untransfigured the sheets and quilt, returning everything to its original state.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Over the next two weeks, their feelings grew stronger, and although they shared several kisses, both were reticent to move any further. Hermione because she was scared that she'd get back to her own time and mess it all up by saying or doing the wrong thing in front of future Minerva. Minerva was simply inexperienced, and in 1946, sexual relations before marriage were still frowned upon, and two women being together was simply not done. It was a lot for the freshly-turned twenty-one-year-old to get used to.

She could feel her feelings growing for Morgan, though, and at a pace that scared her. She had never known that love could be like this, and though she didn't know much about the world and love in general, she knew that's what she was beginning to feel. She hoped Morgan felt the same way, but after that morning when she'd recovered her memories, she'd become a little more closed-off than the first day.

Hermione was fighting with herself every day. She knew she was supposed to be Morgan, and she knew who Morgan was supposed to be, but was having trouble reconciling the two ideas. Finally, on the second Sunday of her stay in Minerva's flat, she woke and cast the spell to test her magic level. It was up to a respectable eighty-five percent, which was more than enough to get her home.

She should be ecstatic, but found that she was not. She was still conflicted. What if she got home and made some unwitting error, and ended up rewriting all of – not only Minerva's past – but also the last sixty years of Wizarding history? What if it caused irreparable damage to her relationship with Minerva as Hermione? What if she lost her best friend because she was trying to help make her happy? The implications were far-reaching.

Minerva swept into the room and sat on the end of the bed. "What do you want to do today? We have all day together." Her smiles faded as she saw the look of misery on Hermione's face. "What's wrong?"

"My reserves are sufficient to get me back home and back to my job. I … have to go home today." Hot, fat tears began coursing down her face. "But I don't want to leave you." The tears turned into choking sobs as all the stress and all the pain and all the feelings she had for Minerva came rushing to the forefront of her mind.

Minerva swooped forward, kneeling behind Hermione on the bed, cradling her head and shoulders against her chest, crooning soft, comforting words in a stream. The action made Hermione sob that much harder, remembering how many times older-Minerva had done the same thing.

"What if I'm never able to come back, Min? I don't want to go. I don't want to." The pain in Hermione's voice was palpable.

"Of course you'll come back, Morgan. Of course you will. Why wouldn't you?" Minerva was just as scared that Morgan wouldn't be able to come back as the other witch was, but she was able to bury her fears in the action of comforting the woman with whom she was quickly falling in love.

Hermione cried herself out, grasping at Minerva's robes, reveling in the similarities and differences between this Minerva and the one she knew in the future. She knew she had to get back home, but knew she would be back here as well. Coming up with a good cover story for what was sure to be lengthy absences on the fly, she said, "I'm an Unspeakable."

"What?" Minerva's hands stopped their gentle motions, confused at the statement and where it came from.

"You asked why I wouldn't come back. I'm an Unspeakable and I get sent on dangerous and long missions. I don't know when I'll be able to come back to you, if I even can. I'm overdue to be back as it is, but I couldn't go back until my reserves were back up to par." It hurt to have to lie to Minerva, especially knowing how she felt about secrets, but it had to be done.

"Oh. I see."

Hermione jerked herself up to her knees, turning to face Minerva, who was still kneeling on the bed. Her hand reached up to cup a cheek that was quickly filling with tears. "Min. I will be back. I don't know exactly when, but I _will_ come back to you. Please know that I don't want to go, but I must, and I will do my duties for my job, thinking of you all the while. Everything I do from now until the time I come back will be in pursuit of getting back here to you." Her hand withdrew until her fingers were on Minerva's chin, raising it so that tear-filled green eyes were forced to look into similarly wet brown ones. "I will come back to you," she said with a vehemence.

For once leading with her emotions instead of with her head, she moved forward, her lips capturing Minerva's in a bruising kiss, not waiting for permission to send her tongue racing forward to rub forcefully against the other. All of their other kisses had been very gentle and soft; the kisses of exploration and newness. This was very much a kiss of promise and forcefulness. This was a kiss of assurance, of making sure Minerva _knew_ she would be back. Minerva returned the force of the kiss hungrily, reaching up to bury one hand in Hermione's loose hair, tugging lightly at it before releasing the kiss. "You'd better," she growled, resuming the intense kiss.

Taken by the moment, Hermione's hands were roaming over Minerva's back, and one took a path toward the front, brushing against the soft underside of one of the taller witch's breasts, a thumb reaching upward to press against the tight nipple through her clothes. Minerva broke the kiss off again, hissing sharply at the sensation. "I'm sorry," Hermione rasped out, dropping her hand. "Too much, too much. I have to go home today. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. It just felt better than I thought it would," Minerva explained, breathing raggedly, "and I think I'm not quite ready for that yet."

"I know, Min. Whether you want my apologies or not, I'm giving them out whole-heartedly. I'm sorry, and not just for that, but also because if I'm going to leave today, I need to go now or I'll forget everything and stay." Tears shone brightly in both pairs of eyes. "Because of the nature of my work as an Unspeakable, you won't be able to contact me while I'm gone, not by any means. The Ministry will tell you I don't exist, and more traditional forms of contact won't be able to find me. The moment I return, I'll send you a message to let you know where you can find me. Gods I'm going to miss you, Min."

"I'll miss you as well, Morgan, more than you know." Minerva's voice was thick with pain and tears.

"I'm going to step out of the room and apparate away, Min, before I find myself unable to. Please just stay here until you hear me leave. I'll be back as soon as I can, I promise." Hermione pressed one last soft kiss to Minerva's lips, then stood and summoned her belongings. Everything in hand, she glanced at the crying witch on her bed, wishing again that she could stay.

She stepped from the room, closed the door, and disapparated to Hogsmeade. She took a moment to clear her head and conjured a handkerchief to clean the tears from her face before walking into the Three Broomsticks. She found Mairead and baby Rosmerta, and wished them a fond farewell, thanking Mairead for all her help. She pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of Rosie's head, then made her way down to the Shrieking Shack to be sure she wasn't seen. Thinking of her own London flat the day she'd left it, she placed a hand on the place where the crystal tattoo had formed.

She incanted the word _Arj_, and disappeared from Hogsmeade in 1946, appearing seconds later back in 2004 London. Pulling the chain from her neck and placing it back in its storage box, she cast the same diagnostic spell she'd used earlier, and saw that her magical stores were at the same level as when she'd woken up in Minerva's guest room. _I could have returned at any point without any damage, then. Good to know for future trips. I only get drained on the initial journey._

Closing the box holding the Time Crystal with a quiet snap, she stripped off the clothes she was wearing, took a hot shower, and then fell into her own bed to cry the rest of the day away, wishing she was with twenty-one-year-old Minerva back in the other flat.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Gillywater: I searched and searched for a recipe online, but couldn't find anything that sounded feasible, so I made my own drink up for it. Assuming Gillywater is made from Gillyweed, I've given it the color of water, and used the basic flavor profile of Sonic's "Ocean Water", which is blue raspberry and coconut syrups added to Sprite. Instead of Sprite here, it's likely tonic water for bubbles mixed with a touch of Vodka or Gin or maybe White Rum to provide the alcohol. I don't drink at all, so I'm not sure what would taste better. Suggestions?

Notice that while in the past, when Hermione didn't know who she was, I referred to her as Morgan, even in the narrative, but when her memories came back, she became Hermione again. It may be a bit confusing, and I apologize, but it makes sense to me.

I had to fight with myself over a few things in trying to get this written, but I'm happy with the outcome and I hope y'all are, too. Happy New Year, and I'll see you guys next year.

For some reason, this chapter is having problems with being published. I'm sorry if you get more than one notification on the update, or if you've been trying to follow the link provided for Chapter 8 and couldn't access it.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.

I'm so glad you all liked Hermione's first foray into the past. To you faithful few who review nearly every chapter, thank you! I see that many of you are also writers, so I know you know how it feels to wake up and check your email to find review notifications. They make me want to write better and faster to get more of a quality product out for you. So, again, my most sincere thanks.

(That wasn't me fishing for more reviews. Honestly. I'm not the type to hold chapters ransom until I get 'x' number of reviews in. I'm far too impatient for that. I write it, I read back through it a couple times, then I publish. I can't wait; I have to get the chapters out to you, my readers. I like the gratification of receiving reviews, absolutely, and they do motivate me, but just being real here? I'm writing for me. I'm writing because I've been creatively dead for _years_ and the MM/HG ship has woken the muse-beast, and I like the rush I get from feeding her. You guys could never review again, and I would still finish the story, because in the end it's not about you; it's about me accomplishing something I never thought I would be able to. With the last chapter, I'm at 60,000 words! I never thought I'd ever write anything that long, and we've barely gotten started! So yes, thank you for the reviews. The feedback and comments do help, but they're never required.)

Also, a very sarcastic thanks to those of you who have made me start shipping Miranda/Andrea from The Devil Wears Prada. You see, when I get a review, favorite, or follow, I look at your profiles. I read your fic, and those you've marked as favorites. I like knowing what kind of people are enjoying what I write. And a **lot** of you ship those two. So I dug out my DVD copy and watched it again and … I didn't need another ship, guys. I really didn't. (Except that I did and it's beautiful and wonderful and OMG how did I not ship this before?)

Too-long notes section aside, let's get this started. *smirks*

This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Hours later, Hermione finally dragged herself from the bed, still wearing her glamours. She spent several minutes examining her altered self in the mirror, ensuring that she could replace all of them exactly when she got ready to go back, then finally cancelled them all, Morgan's features melting away to become Hermione's again.

Not feeling up to doing much, but feeling her stomach growl, she picked up the phone and ordered takeaway from a little place down the street.

Sitting down with her dinner half an hour later, she began to make a mental list of things she would need to do before going back to the past.

_1. I need a way to deal with finances. Holding an actual job in the past is too risky, and would require me to spend too much time there. I can't bring modern currency back, either. The Goblins won't recognize the makers' marks and will call it counterfeit. The best thing would be to find something valuable here that won't be missed, but will sell for a lot back then. Apparently I end up doing well, given what Minerva's said about my vault in Gringotts. I just need to figure out how._

_2. I need to talk to Minerva. I can't reveal my identity because apparently I haven't. She doesn't know, and I'll have to keep it that way until I've made every trip she remembers me making. I need to figure out how to get that information from her. Possibility: Let her in on my search, and ask for a list of times she's seen me over the years, therefore letting me know when to show up. Is that too much foreknowledge for me?_

_3. I need to learn how to be around Minerva as Hermione again instead of as Morgan. I cannot refer to her as 'Min', and I cannot kiss her, no matter how much I will want to. I must be aware of every touch, so I don't touch her too much or too little and arouse suspicions that something's up._

_4. I need to figure out how to alert past-Minerva to my presence when I arrive. Handwriting is too distinctive; she would recognize Morgan's penmanship in my school essays. She knows my Patronus, and would recognize it as Morgan's. Wait, there was something in one of my old books about changing the form of one's Patronus? Look into that._

_5. I need to bring myself to terms with the fact that in trying to find Minerva's life-long lover, I've become that person. _

The fifth item on the mental list was the sticking point. She had always loved Minerva, and idolized her for many years before they became friends. Minerva had always been the ideal toward which Hermione aspired as a witch. She had once truthfully told Minerva that if she ever went Dark, Hermione would feel compelled to go with her. It had scared her then, and it still did to a certain extent, but if they were supposed to end up being the loves of each other's lives, then she supposed it was only right. She didn't want to become one of those people who gave up their own identity just to be in a relationship with someone else, but at the same time, she knew that some changes were inevitable when merging one's life with another's.

She had wondered about kissing Minerva a few times, thinking it was no more than a passing curiosity – like the buried desire to kiss Fleur had been. Having gotten that experience out of the way, she had no further attraction to the French witch. However, kissing the younger Minerva had awakened her inner desires rather than squashing them, as had happened with Fleur. She wondered if kissing her present friend would make her feel the same things she'd felt while kissing her at twenty-one.

The following day was their scheduled monthly meeting. Hermione decided to go ahead and try to take care of the second item on her list and try to get Minerva to tell her all the times Morgan had visited. There were so many things that could go wrong, and she was going to have to work through them all in order to succeed. She wanted Minerva to be happy, and if this was how she could ensure that outcome, then she would pull out all the stops and, although it would take many years for both of them, she would make it happen.

"_Never mismanage your time."_ The words of Ollivander's father drifted through her mind, now soberingly applicative.

=======================HG/MM=======================

After completely losing her cool over the request, Minerva had grudgingly given in and written out a list of all the times she had seen Morgan over the years. She was sullen and quiet for most of the visit afterward, but brightened up when Hermione finally announced that she'd completed her Masteries three days earlier. She had enfolded the younger woman in her arms, hugging her tightly, proud to have been part of her education.

Minerva still didn't understand why Hermione would spend her precious free time to try and track Morgan, but her words had been true enough; Minerva _was_ unhappy. She _was_ lonely. And she _was_ worried that Morgan hadn't made it through the war. She sensed that there was something more to it, but tendrils of hope had started snaking their way into her heart, pushing aside her concerns about motivations. Hermione had rarely failed at anything, and if she truly was putting her time and effort into finding Morgan, then Minerva knew that her lover would be found.

They shared another pot of tea and some lemon and ginger biscuits, going back to their normal easy conversation. Before either witch was aware of how much time had passed, the little clock on Minerva's mantle chimed midnight.

"Goodness, is it that late?" Minerva was shocked to hear the little bells tolling.

"I guess it is. Merlin, I'm going to be completely useless at work in the morning." Hermione rolled up the parchment Minerva had given her earlier and stuck it down into the inner pocket of her robe. "I can't say as I'm too bothered about it though. I had a lovely time tonight, Minerva." She stood and shook the cookie crumbs from her clothes.

"As did I, Hermione, as did I." Minerva stood as well. "Since it's so late, the gates might not want to open for you. Let me walk you down to be sure."

They both threw heavy cloaks over their clothing against the cold night air, and began descending the staircases, chatting lightly as they slowly made their way down the path to the gates. The heavy iron bars didn't move as they approached, forcing Minerva to touch her palm to one of the center poles before they started to scrape inward. She stepped back to where she'd left Hermione and waited for the gates to fully open.

Just as they stopped creaking and stood still, something zoomed out of nowhere and hovered over Hermione and Minerva's heads, cheerfully ominous. Minerva looked up and smiled while rolling her eyes. "Mistletoe. It looks like I have a student out of bed somewhere. One with very poor taste, given that they're all set to leave in three days."

Hermione was mortified and tried to step away, but her feet were frozen inside a very small circle, trapped close to Minerva. "We, uh, seem to be stuck."

"Oh, aye, that'll be the mistletoe. There's always one or two industrious students who charm bits of it to hold people in place until they kiss. As I said, very poor taste. Might as well get it over with." Minerva bent her head and placed a gentle peck on Hermione's cheek, barely touching her lips to the soft skin. Straightening, she tried to step back, but was unable to. "Oh, for heaven's sake." Her green eyes flashed with annoyance. She reached out and turned Hermione to fully face her, her hands gripping the shorter woman's upper arms near the shoulder. "Very poor indeed."

She could see the horror in Hermione's eyes. "I'm very sorry, Hermione, but it seems whoever charmed this wanted more." She reached her right hand up to softly cup the cheek she'd just kissed. "Is this okay?"

"We have to get free, and this is the only way, right?" The obvious misery in Hermione's voice hurt Minerva a little inside. Kissing a former student wasn't high on Minerva's list of things she wanted to do, but surely the prospect of having to kiss her wasn't that bad, was it?

"I'm afraid so." She hid the hurt in her voice.

"Then do it." Hermione found a little inner steel and used it to fortify her cowardly spine. _Woman up, Hermione! It's not like you've never kissed her before!_

Minerva leaned back down and pressed her lips against Hermione's, left them for a count of three, then pulled back. Again, they found themselves unable to move.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," uttered Hermione crossly, noting how Minerva's eyes narrowed and darkened at the profanity. "If they want a good show, then let's just give it to them, the little perverts." Minerva's eyes widened at her words. _In for a penny, in for a pound._ Hermione thought before she tilted her head up and whispered in Minerva's ear, "I know this is uncomfortable for both of us. If it helps get us out of here, just pretend I'm … someone else." She paused slightly, changing her mind at the last minute, choosing not to use Morgan's name. She pulled her head back and looked earnestly into Minerva's face, seeing the shock of her statement register in the deep green eyes.

Minerva nodded curtly, and Hermione brought a hand up to Minerva's neck, her thumb caressing the curve of a clenched jawbone, feeling the muscles relax under the treatment. This time, instead of Minerva leaning down for the kiss, Hermione raised herself on her toes and gently touched Minerva's thin lips with her own, brushing them together once, twice, and a third time before pulling back slightly. Her eyes were still open, and she saw Minerva close her own before leaning further into Hermione, lips parted slightly in preparation. From there, instinct took over, and her brown eyes closed as well, meeting in the middle, and they lost themselves in each other, everything else fading away. Tongues gently ran over each other, lips moving in beautiful harmony, first one pressing forward before retreating to allow the other to take control for a moment, then sliding back to begin the cycle anew.

Hands had left their positions on shoulders and cheeks to roam greedily over backs, spreading fire wherever they went. One of Minerva's hands tangled in curls that were swaying in the cold winter wind. The kiss went on for several minutes, neither woman noticing as the magical mistletoe disappeared in a puff of ash over their heads, its requirements having long since been met.

Finally, Hermione pulled back, her weight moving back from the balls of her feet to rest on the full sole, and their eyes fluttered open. She stepped back, Minerva's hand falling from her hair, and managed to whisper a quick "Good night" before walking unsteadily backward through the gates and outside the Apparition wards that surrounded the castle. With a quick turn, Hermione disapparated away from Minerva and Hogwarts, appearing a second later in her London flat.

She reached up a hand to her lips, still tingling from the impromptu snog. _What a kiss!_ Knowing Minerva as well as she did, and in possession of the knowledge that she could and did feel incredibly attracted to her, even in her older body, she thought _I could fall in love with her. I could. And it's not as strange a thought as it was before._ She could feel her body flushing with remembered desire, and she collapsed onto the sofa in her living room.

Meanwhile, Minerva was rooted to the spot she'd been in for the kiss. She didn't know what to make of it. Her body was waking with the memory of touches and caresses, both gentle and not. She'd never felt anything like that for anyone but Morgan, and she was confused. _What in the world is going on?_

=======================HG/MM=======================

Over the three days leading to the students' leaving for Christmas Holidays, Minerva's confusion over her reaction to the kiss manifested itself in fury, the likes of which had not been seen in Hogwarts since Severus Snape used to stalk through her halls. She was livid, trying to find the person responsible for the mistletoe, and more than one innocent student suffered her wrath, all four houses suffering a deplorable point loss.

Her staff was worried about her, wondering what could have caused such a quick shift in temperament. She was short and snappish, even with them, suspecting that it may not have been a student who was responsible.

Finally, once the castle was empty and the Hogwarts Express was chugging away toward London, it was Filius Flitwick, her dependable Deputy Headmaster, and one of her oldest friends, who stopped her. He cornered her in the Headmistress' office, and made her sit down and listen.

"Minerva, you have got to calm down. I don't know what happened or who's responsible for your attitude the last few days, but it's got to stop." His normally high, squeaky voice was low and dangerous, with a generous overtone of concern for his friend.

Minerva slumped back into her chair, raising her hands to cover her face in frustration and embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Filius. Have I been so horrible?"

"There are rumors that Severus' ghost has come back and possessed you, dear. What's going on? I haven't seen you like this for … I don't know that I've ever seen you like this, Minerva, and we've been friends for fifty years."

Minerva battled with herself internally for several long moments while Filius sat and patiently waited. Finally, she spoke with her voice just above a whisper, "I kissed Hermione."

The shock of her statement nearly knocked the part-Goblin out of his seat. His voice returned to its signature high pitch as he squeaked out, "Hermione? But I thought… what about Morgan?"

After Albus' death, Minerva had been hurting so badly, and she'd gone to the oldest friend she had left. Filius had listened sympathetically as she spilled the whole story about Morgan and their secret relationship, and how much Minerva needed her to be there. It had felt good to be able to open up about such a big part of her past, and soon after, Morgan had showed up. She hadn't stayed long, and that was the last time Minerva had seen her.

"Someone charmed some mistletoe so that we couldn't escape until we had a proper snog. I've always been in love with Morgan, and I've never really wanted anyone else, although Merlin knows there have been mild attractions here and there. The forced kiss with Hermione, though, was … it stirred feelings in me that only Morgan has ever been able to rouse. She left right after we got free, and I don't know how she felt about it, or if there could ever even be anything there, but gods, Filius, she makes me imagine things I shouldn't be able to imagine with anyone but Morgan. And I think it's all her fault. To try and set me at ease, Hermione told me to imagine she was 'someone else', and she knows about Morgan, and I don't know if my reaction to the blasted thing was because of anything genuine or because I was actually thinking about Morgan." Tears began to trickle down her cheeks, falling to soak into the heavy woolen robes she was wearing.

Flitwick just sat, silent and blinking rapidly, trying to take in everything she'd just said. "So, you were forced to kiss her. She knows about Morgan and told you to imagine you were kissing her instead. It was an earth-shattering kiss, and unless I'm mistaking what you didn't say, you would like to do it again without the other issues in the way?"

It was Minerva's turn to blink. "I… yes. But the worst part is that whatever _might_ be with Hermione, I'm still in a relationship with Morgan, and even though we had no choice, I feel guilty, like I was cheating, which, as you know, is something I don't condone under any circumstances." She felt like her heartstrings were being ripped out slowly, guilt eating away at the healthy muscle, leaving behind a torn and bloody mess.

"It sounds to me, then, like you need to talk to Hermione." He stopped her outburst with an outstretched finger. "No, wait. Listen to me." She settled back into her chair, her confusion evident. "You don't have to tell her everything, but you do need to find out how she feels about the situation. At the very least, you owe her the knowledge that you won't allow it to go any further until things are resolved with Morgan."

She sighed deeply, running her hands up and down her face, her fingers putting pressure on her forehead and around her eyes and nose. "You're right, Filius. You're right. I owe her at least that much." She dropped her hands and smiled weakly. "Did you know...? She got her certifications on Wednesday. She's now a fully qualified Mistress in both our fields."

"Is she?" He wasn't surprised to hear that she'd accomplished so much, but he hadn't even known she was pursuing both masteries at the same time. "What were her final projects?"

The question brought Minerva up short. "You know… I never thought to ask her."

=======================HG/MM=======================

The week had dragged by for Hermione, now working four days a week for the DRCMC and Mr. Catalpa. Finally, Friday arrived, and with it, Christmas Eve, and she had a day to herself.

Emboldened with the information that she could feel just as much for older Minerva as she could for younger Min, as she'd begun to distinguish between them in her mind, Hermione set about tackling the other items on her list. Number Five had been settled with the unexpected kiss, and Number Two as well with the list Minerva had given her.

In an effort to minimize the effects the kiss would have on Number Three, Hermione drafted a short letter to Minerva. In the note, she reassured her friend that she understood it had been an uncomfortable situation for both of them, but that imagining other people had certainly helped get them through it and out of the mistletoe's trap. It was a lie on her part, because she'd been tangled up in thoughts of Minerva, and, she thought, technically a lie on the other woman's part as well since she and Morgan were the same person, but Minerva didn't know that.

The letter written, she tucked it into the book she'd bought for Minerva for Christmas, wrapped it all first in festive paper, then in a heavy brown paper. She tied the package with burlap twine before sending it off to Hogwarts.

Having gotten that out of the way, Hermione decided to tackle Number Four on her list: coming up with a means of contacting Min when she arrived in the past. She dug through her library and found the slim volume on Charms that she'd received when she'd moved into her rooms at Hogwarts for that last year.

She curled up with the book in a corner of her sofa, and found the passages dealing with the Patronus charm. It seemed that while the initial form of a Patronus was something that the magic chose based on the innate characteristics of the caster, it was possible to disguise one's Patronus if the memories used were happy enough and if the caster possessed enough strength of character.

Hermione picked up her wand and summoned her normal Patronus. "_Expecto Patronum_!" she said, and the figure of her playful otter burst from the end of her wand. He gamboled around the room for a moment, searching out the danger before returning to look up at her quizzically. "Hello, Emmett," she smiled at him. "My apologies, old friend, but I need to know." She concentrated on the memory of her first kiss with Min, lying in the bed above the Three Broomsticks. "_Patronus Muta_!" The little silver otter turned a backflip, and landed on eight spindly legs.

"Fuck!" Hermione exclaimed. Of all the animals she could have gotten, she would never have expected a spider. It stood about knee-high, about twice the size Aragog had been when he left for the Forest. The spider scuttled around the floor before coming back to stand in front of Hermione, raising itself to glance at her. "Hello. I'm sorry I don't have a name for you yet, but it's very nice to meet you." The silver spider made a movement that could be a nod before fading away.

She knew each animal had a meaning, and her curiosity over what the spider meant was bubbling over. She didn't have any books on the subject on her shelves, and that only meant one thing: a trip to the bookstore. She threw a thick cloak over her shoulders, fastened it quickly, and used her Floo connection to travel to the Leaky Cauldron.

A quick trip through Flourish and Blotts later, she was back in her flat poring through another book, this one outlining the underlying meanings of various animals as they related to Patronuses and Animagus forms.

_Creativity, Patience, Receptivity, Weaver of Fate and Destiny._

The overwhelming consensus on the meaning of a Spider Patronus was that she held these attributes. One passage was eerily appropriate for her situation:

_If Spider has woven her way into your life, she is bringing your attention to your creativity. Is it at a peak right now? Are you ignoring your ideas and dreams? Have you taken the time to find the balance between your past and future? Primarily, Spider is giving you the message that you weave your own web in life. The reality you see before you was created by yourself. If it does not suit you, then it is time to make changes._

_Spider will teach you balance between the past and future, physical and spirit, male and female. She is strength and gentleness combined. She awakens creative sensibilities and reminds you that the past is always interwoven with the future. Spider's message is that you are an infinite being who will continue to weave patterns of life and living throughout time. Do not fail to see the eternal plan of creation. _*

The little vindictive voice in the back of her head made her want to send a Patronus message to Ron in the spider form, just to see him jump out of his skin. She pushed those thoughts aside, however. Charlotte would belong to Morgan, and Emmett would remain Hermione's.

Keeping hold of the memory of Min, she cast the charm again and again, experimenting with calling a specific form. She found that if she concentrated hard enough on the memory, and kept the intended form at the forefront of her mind, she could easily call either Emmett or Charlotte at will. Smiling at her accomplishment, she remembered early on in their year on the run when she'd had so much trouble casting the spell.

She just hadn't had enough hard times at that point to make her happy memories strong enough to easily and consistently cast it. Harry had faced hardship at every turn growing up, and had some very happy memories at Hogwarts by the time he was thirteen, and it was that distinction which made his Patronus so strong. Until that year spent camping, hungry and cold and terrified by the feelings the Horcrux had evoked, followed by the battle at Hogwarts and the losses she'd suffered, she just hadn't had the basis of comparison between the good times and the bad required to cast a truly powerful Patronus. When she added in the sheer bliss and strength that the memory of that first kiss brought forth, she didn't think she would ever have trouble casting the complicated charm again.

That took care of Number Four. She mentally reviewed what she had left to solve before she could go back to Min. She still needed to work out finances. That was a major point, and while she had some vague ideas on how to solve it, she wasn't anywhere near finishing that one up. Number Three, her actions or inactions around Minerva would be an ongoing concern until all her trips had been made and she could reveal who Morgan really was. That would be the only solution to it, and there was no way to know how long that would take.

So the last thing she really had to do before she could go back was ensure she would be financially stable once she got there.

=======================HG/MM=======================

In the end, the money question was answered by Harry, and to an extent, Ron, although neither of them were aware of the question or the answer. Hermione was invited to the CM for New Year's Eve, and while walking around the library with her drink in hand, she was perusing the framed photos that had been hung on the walls.

There was one of Neville handing the Sword of Gryffindor over to a tall Gringotts Goblin in a simple ceremony soon after the final battle was over. Since it had been Harry who promised its return to Griphook, everyone had thought he would be the one to complete the ceremony. Instead, he had suggested that Neville do it instead, stating that while he had used the jeweled sword a time or two, Neville had used it for its most important purpose in defeating Nagini, Voldemort's snake and final Horcrux. Nagini had been the second of the Dark Lord's six intended Horcruxes to be destroyed by the sword, and it had assisted in the destruction of a third when Harry had used it to kill the Basilisk back in their second year, and then used one of its fangs to stab the first Horcrux.

_Basilisk._

The Basilisk's remains were still down in the Chamber of Secrets. When she and Ron had gone down to get a fang to do away with the cup, its carcass had been stripped of everything of value, leaving behind only a skeleton. What if it hadn't been normal decay? Basilisk Skin, Fangs, and Venom were highly valued and _very_ rare to find, due to the sheer dangerous nature of the beast from which they came.

Inspiration hit her like a sack of bricks. She could go back to when the remains had been fresher, procure its skin and a few fangs still containing venom, and that would give her more than enough money to start out with. She could simply take the parts and pieces back to 1946 with her, sell them to some discreet Apothecaries, and be set.

She could take that seed money and invest in Wizarding and Muggle businesses she knew would succeed, and she would never have to worry about money again. This had to be how Morgan's vault became so healthy. It had to be.

The ethics of using time travel for such a reason were a bit questionable, but she thought pretty much the entire idea of her repeated trips to the past had problems, so what was this added to everything else?

More people arrived, and the party started in earnest. Harry and Luna were the hosts, and they had invited most of their friends and family to join in the festivities. Ron was still sulking and had pronounced that he wouldn't attend if Hermione did. Not willing to put up with his immature attitude over the situation, Harry had told him to just stay home if that was how he felt.

She talked for a while with the Twins, whose business was skyrocketing them into international fame. When Neville and Ginny arrived, Hermione tightly wrapped her arms around his waist, silently thanking him for the inspiration his photograph had given her. He and Ginny shared a look, but shrugged it off as Hermione just being … well, Hermione, and hugged her back.

She was surprised to see Minerva show up about an hour before the big moment, but made her way slowly through the room, talking to people along the way, until she was finally at Minerva's side.

They shared some light small-talk, conversation stilted between them for the first time since they'd become friends. When the fifteen second countdown to midnight began, Hermione considered finding someone else to stand with, but decided against it. As the room reached the final second, shouting madly, Hermione looked up at Minerva, who was looking back down at her. Without stopping to consider the consequences to the third item on her internal list, Hermione reached up and placed a gentle kiss on Minerva's cheek, holding it for only a couple seconds before pulling away.

As the room began to sing the standard _Auld Lang Syne_, Hermione ducked out of the room, made her way out the back door, and apparated away to her flat. She really shouldn't have kissed her again. It went against everything her head and Number Three were screaming at her, but she'd been compelled to do it and couldn't resist.

Maybe the sweet, chaste nature of the kiss would help?

=======================HG/MM=======================

The Saturday morning following the New Year festivities dawned clear, bright, and cold. Hermione snuggled deeper into her quilts, thinking about a hot shower, and a hot meal. She had spent so many years with Saturdays spent working at the Ministry, and the novelty of having more than one day off per week hadn't worn off. She swore to herself that she would spend the entire day lazing around her flat, while still working on the pressing concerns of how to do what she needed to get back to her Min.

Throwing off the covers, she stretched languorously before standing and stripping off her night clothes, sending them wandlessly to float into the laundry hamper. She turned the shower on in the bathroom, and brushed her teeth the Muggle way while waiting for the water to get hot. Stepping into the gloriously hot water, she began methodically washing herself, her mind occupied with the thoughts that had been plaguing her all week.

She was sure that standard anti-apparition wards would prevent her from jumping directly onto Hogwarts grounds, and she couldn't be seen trying to sneak in. The gates wouldn't open for her, and there was no way she would be able to talk Dumbledore into letting her in, no matter what kind of disguise she used.

The thoughts heavy on her mind, she finished her shower and turned the water off. Brushing her hand down the front of a hanging towel, she cast a quick warming charm on it before picking it up and toweling herself dry. Using a similar method, she ran her hands lightly through her hair, partially drying it before quickly braiding the damply tamed strands into a neat plait, securing the bottom with a cloth-wrapped thin elastic band.

Absent-mindedly walking into her bedroom to find something to put on, she stopped abruptly and shrieked, hands jumping to cover the important bits. Kreacher was walking around her bedroom, tidying up.

At her yelp, Kreacher stopped what he was doing and muttered "Bother" under his breath.

She quickly summoned a robe from a hook on the closet door, and threw it on. "Kreacher, what are you _doing_?" Now covered by the cotton robe, she was staring the elf down with one hand on her hip, the other holding the top edges of the robe tightly together.

His ears drooped, and he began wringing his hands together in front of his hunched-over body. "Mistress Hermione! Home on Saturday! Kreacher is so sorry to disturb his Mistress."

"You're not disturbing me, Kreacher. I was just surprised to see you. Are you regularly here on Saturdays?" Hermione wasn't upset with him, really. She was only confused by his presence.

His body began to shake, and his ears drooped even further, pressing tightly against his head. "Kreacher comes every Saturday to clean his Mistress' home. Mistress gets so caught up in her work and her studies, and Kreacher would have to punish himself if he allowed anyone under his care to live in filth. Kreacher takes care of his family, Mistress. Kreacher has not told his Mistress what he has been doing, because Kreacher knew she would worry that he was doing too much, but … I am happy to serve you, Mistress, even when you no longer live at home."

She was moved by his speech, and knelt down in front of him, reaching a hand out to rest on his still-wringing hands. "I think it's very nice that you've been keeping my flat clean for me, Kreacher. I've been so busy, and you're right. I would have a very dirty flat indeed if it had been up to me. Thank you." His ears perked up a little, and he stopped shaking, his hands stilling their wringing motions. "However, I can't allow you to continue doing this extra work for free. I know how much Harry pays you, and I know you don't spend it, but I insist on giving you a silver Sickle every month from here on out. It's nowhere near what I'd like to pay you, and I know it's a lot more than you'd like to take, but if you're to continue, I insist that you take it."

"But Mistress, Kreacher has nothing to spend money on. Master Harry makes Kreacher eat out of the meals Kreacher prepares for him and Miss Luna, and provides plenty of tea towels for Kreacher to wear, and Mistress helped Master Harry fix up Kreacher's room. Kreacher has no _need_ for money." He started shaking again, but thankfully not as hard as he had been shaking before.

Remembering the Elf-rights laws she had helped to form several months earlier, she knew better than to insist on giving him anything he truly didn't want, but it stung that he was doing all this extra work without being compensated.

"If that's how you truly feel, then I won't force you to take money, but if you ever need anything, Kreacher, please promise you'll let me know." She squeezed his hands.

"So Mistress won't make Kreacher take her money?" He stopped shaking again, and his ears perked up a little more.

"No, not if you truly don't want me to."

His ears shot up to their full height, and the look of elation on his face dispelled her worries about wrongfully using him. "Thank you, Mistress! Kreacher does promise to come to his Mistress if ever he needs anything not provided by Master Harry! Now, why doesn't Mistress lie back down, and Kreacher will fix her a nice breakfast, yes?"

Hermione had never seen Kreacher so happy and animated. He almost reminded her of Dobby acting like that. She debated the extra work he would be doing by not only cleaning, but also cooking for her, but the devotion shining from his eyes settled things in his favor.

"I'd love some breakfast, Kreacher, but I'll have it at the table instead of in bed. While I am planning on being at home all day, there's no need to laze around in bed the whole time."

"Of course, Mistress, whatever you want." He snapped his fingers a couple of times, and her bed was instantly made, and the bathroom was sparkling. "Does Mistress have any requests for her breakfast?"

Hermione thought longingly back to Sunday mornings when she'd been small and waking up to the smell of cinnamon and butter wafting through the house. "I think I have everything in there to make French toast, and maybe some fresh fruit to go with it?"

"Yes, Mistress. Kreacher makes excellent French toast. It will be ready for Mistress in just a few minutes." The jubilant House-elf almost skipped his way out of her bedroom on his way to the kitchen. Hermione shook her head, smiling at his enthusiasm as she stood up and walked over to the closet. She hung her robe back on its hook and reached for comfortable underwear, slipping into them before pulling out a soft pair of jogging bottoms in a soft heather grey with lilac trim and a matching hooded jumper. She dressed quickly and fastened her wand holster to the waist of the trousers, fixing her Walnut wand into it. She then tugged on a pair of thick socks, and padded into the living room.

Every surface in sight gleamed and sparkled in the morning sunshine, the drapes having been thrown open to allow the light to stream in cheerfully. There was a small fire crackling in the hearth, and the wickedly mouth-watering scent of cinnamon and nutmeg and browned butter soon reached her nose. Her heart twinged at this reminder of the happy childhood she'd had, and how she had ruined it all with one carefully cast _Obliviate_.

There was a bowl of artfully cut fruit already on the small dining table. There were thinly sliced strawberries, red and ripe, round balls of orange cantaloupe and green honeydew melons, yellow spikes of juicy pineapple tidbits, and small pieces of mandarin oranges, all mixed together and looking delicious. A pitcher of pulpy orange juice sat next to the bowl of fruit, and the table was already set with a cloth placemat, on top of which rested a large plate surrounded by properly placed flatware. Kreacher came out just a second later, carrying another plate with two thick slices of steaming French toast, a container of warmed maple syrup and a shaker containing powdered sugar floating behind him. He set the warm plate on top of the one in the place setting, and arranged the syrup and sugar to sit at the corner of the placemat.

"This looks absolutely delicious, Kreacher! Thank you so much for cooking for me. This all looks like maybe a little too much just for me, though. Why don't you get another plate and join me? I don't really like eating alone, you know." Hermione sat down at the prepared seat, and reached to pour some juice into the waiting goblet.

"Mistress wants Kreacher to eat with her?" He croaked out, surprised at the offer.

"Of course. You prepared it all, you may as well enjoy some of it." She waved her wand, and another place setting appeared in front of the other seat. She sent one of the slices of toast over to the other plate and put her wand away before beginning to dust powdered sugar over the hot bread.

Kreacher looked at her dubiously before crawling into the offered chair. When Hermione finished with the powdered sugar shaker, she passed it over where he could reach it, and drizzled the warm syrup over the top of the sweetened toast. He hesitantly reached for the shaker and put just a little on top of his own slice, waiting for the syrup. She passed it over dutifully, and he poured a generous amount over his toast.

She reached her hand up and crooked a finger, silently summoning another glass from the kitchen and set it in front of his plate, pouring him some juice from the pitcher. Another crook brought another bowl flying to sit next to his plate, and she used a spoon to move some of the fruit from her bowl over into his. His eyes were narrow and distrustful, not used to sharing meals with anyone else, much less his Master or Mistress, but he picked up his fork and began eating, careful to be as polite as possible.

Hermione cut a bite from her toast and as it touched her tongue, her eyes closed in bliss. The browned butter, the egg and cream mixture, the cinnamon and nutmeg and vanilla, and the thick slice of baguette all came together perfectly, and the combination of the perfectly cooked toast with the sugar and syrup was delightfully sinful. She moaned lightly, enjoying the way the flavors burst on her tongue as she chewed and then swallowed. Taking a small sip of her juice, she said, "Kreacher, you have absolutely outdone yourself. This is the best French toast I've ever had."

He brightened up at the compliment, but said nothing. She speared some of the fruit with her fork, and it was all perfectly ripe and firm and cold. "I was sure some of my fruit was a little over ripe, but I guess I was wrong, because this is perfect."

"Some of it was, Mistress. Kreacher fixed it."

She was surprised to hear about this heretofore unknown ability of Elven magic, but was thankful for the wonderful Saturday morning meal. "Thank you, Kreacher. For everything. It means the world to me that you take time out of your busy life to come and care for me, even when I didn't know. And this breakfast! I know you don't normally eat with us, and it had to be uncomfortable for you, but I really do appreciate you making the effort. Thank you."

They finished their meal in silence, Kreacher on the verge of tears after her little speech. He'd never really been thanked for his service like that before she and Harry had come along, and it lightened his heart to know that the work he did for them was so appreciated. He could never have imagined eating in the presence of Witches and Wizards when he had worked for Mistress Walburga, and he was sincerely touched by the trust Mistress Hermione placed in sharing her meal with him.

When they were finished, Kreacher snapped his fingers several times, the dishes whizzing away to the sink to start washing themselves up, and the table finding itself immaculately clean again. All the surfaces in the kitchen were left in the same condition. Hermione sat and watched as he kept snapping his fingers, and more of her tiny flat gleamed in the aftermath of his cleaning magics. He disappeared into her bedroom, and she heard his fingers snapping away as he pulled all the laundry from the hamper, automatically cleaning each piece and putting it away, perfectly pressed and hung in the closet or folded and placed carefully in the waiting drawers. The dishes finished washing themselves, and another snap had them all dried and put away, and the sink left shining and clean. One last pair of snaps had the carpets and furniture dirt and dust-free, and smelling fresh like lemons and herbs.

Kreacher walked up to where Hermione had been watching him work from her dining chair, and bowed low in front of her, his nose and droopy ears brushing the ground. He straightened up and looked her carefully in the eyes before speaking. "Mistress is welcome. Kreacher … Kreacher lives to serve, and he gets more pleasure in doing for this Mistress than he ever got from any other Master or Mistress who came before. Kreacher gives his fealty to Mistress Hermione freely and with no reserve. Kreacher is your servant, Mistress. Forever." He reached up to touch an astonished Hermione's hand briefly, an electric shock passing through his fingers to hers, and then with a pop, he left.

Watching Kreacher apparate away, she was hit with a blinding flash of inspiration. If she used the Crystal while already on Hogwarts grounds, she should, like a house elf, be able to pop back in time without having to force her way through the Anti-Apparition wards. She would have to test the theory to be sure, but it was a step in the right direction.

Having possibly solved the problem of how to get onto Hogwarts grounds and into the Chamber of Secrets without alerting Dumbledore to her presence, she took the day to catch up on some of her casual reading.

=======================HG/MM=======================

The next morning, she popped over to Hogwarts and sent a quick Patronus message to Hagrid, asking him to come down to the gates. She didn't want Minerva to know she was there unless it was necessary, not wanting her to ask questions. When Hagrid strode up to the gates and opened them for her, she greeted him warmly. He asked why she needed him to let her in when she normally asked Minerva for her access, and she quickly came up with a believable lie. She told him she was working on a special gift for their friend, and needed to take a few photographs of the grounds without Minerva knowing she was there. Hagrid was horrible at keeping secrets, but if word did get out that she'd been there, she would figure out a way to justify the move.

She gave Hagrid a warm hug and promised to come by his hut when she was finished for tea and a visit before he let her out. Finding a quiet corner of the grounds near the lake, not far from where she and Minerva had paused in their walk the day Ron had proposed, she pulled the Crystal out from under her robes and softly whispered the incantation to take her directly into the Chamber of Secrets, five minutes earlier. When she added the final spell word, _Ausafr_, she disappeared silently, and reappeared exactly five minutes earlier in the bowels of the castle, near the desiccated corpse of the Basilisk.

A look of triumph erupted on her face as her hypothesis was proven correct. All she had to do was get onto the grounds of the castle in the present time, and she could appear in the Chamber whenever she wanted. She had decided that the morning after the Basilisk had been killed would be the best day to get what she needed. The skin and fangs would be at their freshest, and there had been enough confusion that day over the waking of all the petrified students – including herself, the unexpected freeing of Dobby, and the early morning feast to cover her appearance up.

Heart jubilant, she shouted _Arj_ and returned to her spot by the lake. To keep up the lie she told Hagrid, she conjured up a disposable Muggle camera, and wandered around for half an hour, taking pictures of various places that held meaning for her, not daring to go inside the castle for fear of seeing Minerva.

Finally, she returned to Hagrid's little hut and sat down for a short visit before he escorted her back down to the gates and opened them for her. He pressed her into another tight hug, and made her promise to make more time to visit with him in the future.

Apparating back home, she began researching all the useful bits that could be taken from a Basilisk. Once she had a comprehensive list of what she would need to strip from its body, she started looking into the businesses in which she would want to invest once she got back to 1946. Over the next week, she noted several that had started up around that time, taking advantage of a post-war economic boom. Some were still successful in 2004, but others had fluttered out of existence somewhere in the interim time. She wrote down the shorter list of the ones which were still successful, earmarking certain percentages of her ill-gotten funds for investing in each one.

=======================HG/MM=======================

The next Sunday was her scheduled meeting with Minerva, and she made sure to bring her beaded purse, stuffed with containers to hold the bits and pieces she would retrieve from the giant snake back in 1993. The gates were open and waiting for her when she arrived, and she trudged up to the castle alone. She climbed up to the seventh floor and asked the Gargoyle to let her in. She was sure the meeting would be awkward between the mistletoe kiss and the little one from Harry's party, but she was determined to fix everything.

She stopped in front of the closed door, breathed in and out deliberately, calming herself, then opened the door and stepped in.

Minerva sat in her usual chair, heavy robes in place, her bun unusually tight and restrained, and her eyeglasses polished to a high shine. As Hermione entered the room, she stood and turned to welcome her young friend.

"Minerva, before we go through the awkward greeting where neither of us knows how to act, I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I was completely inappropriate at the end of our last visit, and I wasn't any better on New Year's Eve. I'm sorry." Hermione blurted it all out, not even allowing Minerva to say hello, scared that instead of being polite and greeting her, she would instead just ask Hermione to leave.

"There's nothing to apologize for, Hermione. Neither of us had any control over what happened with the mistletoe, nor was it the first time one of us has kissed the other on the cheek. I admit I was confused as to why you left even before the song was finished, but if you were feeling that awkward over our last meeting, then I understand." Minerva didn't understand anything at all, but if Hermione was willing to apologize and move on, then she would do the same. "I apologize myself if knowing that I was thinking of someone else during our kiss made you uncomfortable." She waved her hand toward Hermione's normal seat across from hers. "Why don't you have a seat, and we'll forget about the whole thing, hmm?"

"Thank you." Hermione sat in her chair, and they began their meeting, all awkwardness gone. Minerva inquired whether she had made any progress locating Morgan, and Hermione explained, as planned, that she had begun the process, but it would probably take quite some time to track her down, even with knowledge of her historical movements at her disposal. Minerva told her that Professor Flitwick had been most impressed when he'd heard the news of Hermione's dual-Mastery status, and remembered to ask what her final projects had been.

Blushing slightly at the unexpected question, Hermione quickly came up with an answer that she had done one project to satisfy the requirements of both areas of study, but that the Department of Mysteries had snapped up the results right away, preventing her from discussing it with anyone.

The rest of their visit was their normal conversation, the theories behind this spell or that charm, and how one area affected others. For instance, how certain Potions ingredients were difficult to come by, and before the invention of Stasis Charms, had been next to impossible to procure before they spoiled.

The conversation reminded Hermione that she needed to imbue all her containers with permanent Stasis Charms to prevent the precious ingredients she was going to harvest from going bad before she could get them back to the forties and sell them. She sent a silent thanks to Nimüe for bringing the topic into their conversation.

Two pots of tea and a heaping plate of biscuits later, Hermione made her excuses and left, stopping into Myrtle's bathroom on her way down. She checked to be sure the weeping ghost wasn't currently in residence before pulling the Time Crystal out and incanting the spell that would take her back to middle of the night after Harry had killed the Basilisk. _Ausafr_, she whispered, completing the spell, and she disappeared from the bathroom which housed the Chamber of Secrets, reappearing twelve years earlier deep below.

For the first time, Hermione found herself truly frightened when she arrived. She was too early. She had miscalculated. She quickly cast a Disillusionment Charm, and from her discreet corner of the room, she watched as Harry stabbed the journal, killing the first piece of Voldemort's shattered soul. She watched as the image of Tom Riddle writhed and screamed before fading away. She witnessed the conversation between Harry and Ginny, and watched as they limped out of the Chamber, heading back to where Ron was waiting in the tunnel.

Knowing she had a bit of time now where everyone would be busy, she cancelled the Disillusionment Charm and pulled out her bag, setting out all the containers she'd brought with her. Remembering her conversation, she put permanent Stasis Charms on each of the glass containers and their corresponding lids, and set about stripping the Basilisk of everything remotely useful, remembering to leave enough fangs for her and Ron to find in 1998. It took her about an hour and a half to harvest everything and package it all up. She was just tucking the last container back into her bag when she felt a tingle along her spine, as though she was being watched. She spun around quickly, her wand at the ready, but lowered it slowly as she faced the pale blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore. She was used to seeing the blue eyes with his signature twinkle, but these eyes were quite serious. There was no twinkle to them at all.

=======================HG/MM=======================

* Information taken from spirit-animals dot com slash spider.

So it's painfully obvious where Hermione got the name for her Spider Patronus, but bonus points to anyone who can tell me where the other name came from.

Sorry this is a little late, but at 9000ish words, I'm betting I can placate you. I could have added the next scene to this chapter, but I thought this was a better place to leave off. The reason the chapter is so far behind my normal schedule is because of you Miranda/Andrea shippers. I've been caught up in reading about them, and have slacked off a bit on my writing this week. Hopefully I get the next one up and out a bit sooner.

Last note. I've added this to my Author Profile, but wanted to introduce the idea here as well. If you have a Twitter account and would like to listen to me bitch, whine, moan, complain, and – in general – rejoice over the process of making the words stream from my mind onto the virtual paper via my fingers, you can find me at twitter dot com slash knickknackhaiku. (There's a link in my profile for Twitter and Tumblr both.) It's a real-time peek into my thoughts as I write. Some of you might enjoy that kind of thing, and some of you may not. It's there if you're one of the former rather than one of the latter though.

(Also, how many of you lost your shit earlier when Bonding got a new chapter? I know I did. Jesus that story's perfect.)


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.

You guys are so awesome. I love you so much. I don't like replying to reviews in the story text, but AJ asked a good question and, as they have a guest account, I can't reply via PM. (Shame on you, lol.) No, I can't say as I have a DWP story in the works. I have another MM/HG on deck for after this one, maybe, but at this time, I have no plans for a Miranda/Andrea story. Also, thanks to a friend who wants one, I might put off the third MM/HG story and write a short non-FS for The Walking Dead, because Daryl and Carol and the writers are fucking them over. However, that won't be until this one's finished. I can't split my focus like that or neither story will ever be finished.

Quick note: While Hermione is in the past, pretending to be Morgan, I will refer to her as such. So when "Morgan" wakes up and I'm not saying "Hermione," know that they are still the same person. Alright, that's it.

This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM=======================

The cold blue eyes stared her down, his wand in hand. "May I ask who you are and how you got onto school grounds without permission? I think we can both tell why you're here, although that begs the question of how you knew there would be a dead Basilisk tonight." His voice, while still calm and pleasant on the surface, had an undertone of hard anger.

Hermione kept her eyes from staring directly into his, avoiding any attempts at Legilimency on his part; her Occlumency shields were passably good, but she didn't know if they would stand up to a healthy Albus Dumbledore's attempts to break through.

"Sir? You do know me, only not quite in this form. I believe I am currently upstairs enjoying the mid-night feast after having been awoken with the Mandrake juice." She could see him frowning as he mentally ran through the list of people who had been petrified. "I am Hermione Granger, sir, and I'm here from the year 2005."

Recognition flashed in his eyes, the twinkle making a limited appearance. "Miss Granger. Of course. I have to say I'm disappointed in this blatant misuse of a Magical Artifact. However, you said you come from twelve years in the future? That's quite impossible with a standard Time-Turner, and so I'm curious as to how you came to be so far in your own past." The angry undertone was gone, leaving his voice the same quietly calming baritone it had always been.

Faced with a friendly Dumbledore once again, Hermione was torn. She wanted to rush forward and embrace the man who would be dead in just four years, but she needed to keep the future under a tight lock, and if she gave in to the desire to hug him as tightly as she wanted to, she might give away too much. She was ashamed at having been caught, but at least being discovered by the king of secrets was better than having been found by Minerva.

"There's a great deal I would like to tell you, sir, but you know that I cannot. I must uphold the timeline as much as possible. I already knew the Basilisk had been stripped for parts from another trip down here in the future, and I found myself with a desperate need, and the ability to get myself here and back home, so I took the opportunity. I apologize that I can't tell you any more than that, but I … I can't." Her eyes were so sad that she wouldn't be able to save him, and although he didn't know the reasons behind the strong emotions, he could respect that she couldn't tell him anything more.

"I see, and I understand. However, Miss Granger, I will be waiting for you once you return to 2005 to come and see me then, so that you can explain all of this. Can you at least promise to do that?"

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded silently, knowing it was an oath she'd never be able to fulfill. In a moment of impulse, she stepped forward and reached up to cup his cheek with her left hand, pressing a kiss to the other. "Be careful, sir. There are dark times ahead, which I think you already know, given what Harry destroyed down here tonight. Trust him more, if possible. He will surpass everyone's expectations in the end, even your own." She stepped back and made sure her little bag was safely tucked into her pocket. "I will probably not see you again before our scheduled meeting, but I think the school is very likely in need of its venerable Headmaster at the feast right now. Goodbye, Albus." She stumbled a little over his given name, and his eyes widened in a bit of surprise before the twinkle took over his clear blue eyes.

"Until then, Miss Granger."

She whispered _Arj_ under her breath, and to his great surprise, disappeared silently.

"How very interesting," he murmured to the empty room. "She shouldn't have been able to do that."

=======================HG/MM=======================

Hermione reappeared in Myrtle's restroom with a jolt. She hadn't expected to see Dumbledore; she hadn't expected to see anyone. She lurched and swayed her way out of the castle and down to the gates, finding them open and waiting for her, as they'd been when she'd arrived. She apparated back to her flat and collapsed into the bed, squeezing back hot tears.

It had hurt to experience first-hand her inability to save anyone with this miracle she'd created. It would have been so easy to tell him what was coming. So easy to prepare him, to allow him to make better choices, but she knew she couldn't. If things had been different, she might not have made such fast friends with Minerva. She might have never created the Crystal. She might have deprived herself and Minerva both of the chance to fall in love and have that in their lives. It was an impossible situation.

_Minerva._

Her tears began to dry up as thoughts of her witch floated through her mind. She had everything she needed to go back and finally see her Min again. She would be much better prepared this time.

Sitting up with a jerk, she decided not to wait. She jumped out of her bed and dug around to the very back of her closet, pulling out the vintage-looking dresses and robes she had fashioned after looking through magazines of the day. She threw the lot onto the bed and knelt down to pull out the boots and sturdy shoes she'd likewise found and put together, tossing them on the bed with the clothes. Digging through the bottom drawer, she selected some tights and stockings, and panties and bras that were true to the period. They all joined the pile of clothes and shoes.

Remembering her sleep attire from the last trip with a smirk, she added a couple pair of long pajama bottoms and matching button-down tops. Having gotten everything from the closet, she then chose an outfit to put on and packed the rest neatly away in a small suitcase, shoving it down into her beaded bag.

She stripped and all her modern clothing flew into the hamper, quickly replaced by the old-fashioned underwear. Leaving the skirt and shirt, she went into the bathroom and cast a detangling spell on her hair before pulling it back in the simple, timeless bun, again leaving a few front strands free to arrange in loose curls away from her face. She then cast the series of glamours that would turn her from Hermione into Morgan. Stepping back from the mirror, she appraised herself, looking for any identifying marks that might set off warning bells if Minerva ever made the connection.

The only thing she could see was the ropy scar across her chest from Dolohov's attack in the Department of Mysteries. It wasn't very large, curving along her ribs, nearly reaching her left breast before stopping. After the series of potions Madam Pomfrey had forced down her throat for those ten days, and the years that had passed, it was thinner and lighter than when it had been fresh. She skimmed her fingers over the smooth scar tissue, and decided that it wasn't distinctive enough to worry about. Minerva had never seen it, anyway, having been in St. Mungo's dealing with her own injuries when Hermione had been brought in.

And it wasn't as though she was _planning_ on Min seeing the area. However, she thought it best to be prepared… just in case.

She dressed quickly, slipping into the stockings, admiring the way the rear seam set off the shape of her legs as she clipped them in place. She tucked the white silk button-down shirt into the long black skirt, and slipped into the slightly heeled, but sensible shoes she'd left out. Pausing for a moment to admire herself in the outfit, she pressed her fingers to her mouth and winked cheekily at her reflection, blowing it a kiss while popping one leg up behind her like they used to do during a good kiss in the old Muggle films she used to watch with her dad.

She laughed throatily in Morgan's slightly deeper voice as she went into her little office, pulling out the parchments containing Minerva's timeline, the list of businesses in which she wanted to invest, and some forged identification documents, again on a just in case basis.

According to the timeline parchment, Morgan was supposed to appear the afternoon of the Fifteenth of November, which was a Friday. Hermione decided to go ahead and arrive the night before, and spend it at the Three Broomsticks with Mairead and Rosie. She had some business to which she needed to attend before seeing her Min, as once she met back up with the younger – at least at that time – woman, she wouldn't want to let her out of her sight for some time.

She tucked the bit of parchment back into her desk, unwilling to take that kind of information with her to the past. The other papers were shoved into a manila envelope, proofed against intrusion by water or other liquids. She was confident that the Basilisk parts would stay inside their sealed glass containers, but she had always believed that it was better to be safe than sorry.

Shoving the envelope into her little bag, she took a quick inventory and decided that she needed just one more item before she was ready to go. She went back to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. There were five little bottles lined up, filled with a viscous liquid, swirling green and purple and red, and occasionally flashing brightly as though lightning was striking inside. She removed one of them, and felt the heat of the potion through the unbreakable glass vial. This was an emergency-only measure, and one she sincerely hoped never to have to use.

Magical Replenishment Serum would restore forty percent of her magical reserves if the trip took her too far down, but the side effects were debilitating, causing intense nausea and vomiting, stomach cramping so hard that if the user wasn't hanging their head over the toilet, they were sitting on it, helplessly emptying their system into it from the other end. The effects lasted for two days, and could cause death if one didn't stay properly hydrated during the assault.

The little sparking bottle was tucked securely into a padded box that locked securely with a hiss when closed. This last item was carefully stowed in her bag, and after swapping her Walnut wand with the Apple one, she was ready to go.

She threw her cloak over her shoulders, buttoning it up against the cold November wind she would soon be facing. The bag was stowed in a deep inner pocket of the cloak, and she reached up to grip the Crystal where it rested against her chest. "The Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade, Scotland. Six o'clock PM. The Fourteenth of November, Nineteen Forty-Six. _Ausafr!_"

Fifty-eight years earlier, she appeared in the main room of the Wizarding Pub. She was steady on her feet for a minute, smiling at a surprised Mairead and raising a hand in a friendly wave. Then the room began to spin, and as she fell to the floor, she mumbled out "Bother" before succumbing to the darkness.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Blurry images began to surface, and cool hands were smoothing red hair out of her face, murmuring gentle words of comfort. "Minerva?" she managed to scratch out questioningly.

"Nay, lass. It's Mairead." The innkeeper's voice was soft and gentle. "You may want to rethink all this long-distance apparition, Miss Stewart. It's really not very healthy."

Morgan's eyes began to focus, and she noticed she wasn't in the back room like the last time. "Where…" she was hit with a coughing spell that lasted several long seconds, "am I?"

"Upstairs, in the room you had last time. I figured you'd be needing a room for the night again to recover, so I went ahead and brought you up here." Her hands were still softly stroking Morgan's face and carding through the loose front strands of her hair. "Are you feeling better, then? Do you need anything?"

She wheezed out "Water" in the middle of another coughing fit, sitting up to alleviate the pressure on her chest. A cold glass of water was pressed into her hand, and she took a couple small sips, feeling blessed relief flood her throat with the cool liquid. The coughing having stopped, she took another, larger sip from the glass, feeling about a thousand percent better. She breathed in deeply and faced the older witch sitting on the edge of the bed. "Thank you so much, Madam Mairead. I _am_ in need of a room for the night, and I'm thankful to you for it. I'll be able to pay you for its use tomorrow."

"Of course, dear one. There's no rush." She smiled warmly at Morgan before adding, "At least you didn't lose your memory this time." Morgan chuckled lightly, joined by the musical laughter of her companion. "Being serious, dear, you do need to be careful with the long-distance apparition. Your core gets drained so badly every time you make a big jump like this. You don't want to empty it completely. It's quite dangerous."

"I know, but I'm careful to make sure I'm fully charged before I go so far, and if there was any other way to do it, I would. Unfortunately, I don't have any alternative." She tried justifying her actions, hoping her new friend would accept the excuse.

"Aye, well, just you be careful." Mairead's finger affectionately chucked under Morgan's chin. "I don't like seeing you collapse every time you come for a visit, young lady."

"I will," Morgan beamed up at her new friend.

Having made sure Morgan was going to be fine, Mairead stood and shook her robes straight. "I need to get back downstairs now. Do you need anything else? Something to eat or drink?"

"No, I'm fine, but I do have a question. If you had some rare potions ingredients to sell and wanted to get the best price with the most privacy, where would you go?"

The wispy blonde stood and looked down at the redhead earnestly, trying to judge her character. "You realize you'd have to patronize Knockturn Alley for that kind of discretion, don't you?" Morgan nodded her assent. "You could do worse, I suppose, than Hackney's. The old fellow's been in business for ages, and if I recall correctly, he doesn't keep records so that he can offer the silence it seems you require."

"Do you trust him to give a fair price if the product is of good enough quality?" She needed to get as much as possible to jump-start her 'get along in the past' fund.

Mairead's eyes narrowed a bit, "Of course. I wouldn't have mentioned him if I didn't believe you'd get what whatever you have is worth. May I inquire as to what you're trying to sell, dear?"

Morgan began to shift uncomfortably on the bed. "I'm not sure I should tell anyone. It isn't that I don't trust you, because I do, but … it's a volatile product that I hope I will no longer have in my possession after tomorrow morning."

"No, I insist. I assume you have it here with you somewhere, and if it's something that rare and volatile, that usually means it's dangerous, and I won't have anything that dangerous in my inn overnight." Her normally pleasant voice now had a razor-sharp edge to it at the thought of protecting not only her patrons and guests, but also her young daughter.

"I…"

"No, Miss Stewart, you don't understand. Rosie sleeps downstairs with me. I will not have whatever this thing is on my premises unless I at least know what it is."

Morgan gave in, knowing she had nowhere else she could go until she had some money in her pocket. "It's Basilisk parts. Skin, Venom, Fangs, and various organs used for some rare and valuable potions."

The violet eyes widened exponentially, as she breathed out incredulously, stepping back, "You … you killed a Basilisk? And you have all its valuable bits here with you? _Where_?"

"Safely packed away in sealed, unbreakable containers, and stowed in a bag with an undetectable extension charm on it. There's no risk of anything here getting damaged, and no danger to anyone." Morgan was getting worried about Mairead's reaction. "As to your first question, no, I didn't kill it. Someone else on my team had that dubious pleasure, and we all shared in the spoils for tracking it down. They're quite rare to find fully grown."

"Indeed, they are." She stammered out her next words. "Well, if you're certain it's absolutely safe, then I'll bow to your judgment on the matter, but I don't want it back here after you leave with it in the morning. It's too dangerous to keep around. I don't even want to think about what certain people would do if they heard you had it up here." She shuddered uncontrollably. "I'll be downstairs for some time if you need anything. Otherwise, I'll see you in the morning."

She crossed to the door, opening it.

"Good night, and thank you for the room and the information. All the …stuff will be gone tomorrow."

"Good night, Miss Stewart." The door snicked closed behind her, and Morgan was left alone with her thoughts. She cast a quick diagnostic spell, seeing that her reserves were at forty-five percent. _Five percent better than my first jump. That's good. _

Still feeling very sleepy and not wanting to get up, she transfigured her clothes into loose-fitting pajamas, her cloak having already been removed and hung from a peg by the door. Another flick of the wand and her hair was freed from its bun, resting in the magically secured braid she normally slept in. She pulled the blanket and top sheet down and snuggled into the bed, stashing her wand under the pillow. A wave of her hand doused all the hanging lanterns, plunging the room into darkness.

Lulled by the magical depletion, the warm comfortable bed, and the thought of seeing her Min the next day, Morgan fell quickly into a deep sleep.

=======================HG/MM=======================

She woke early the next morning, staring at a pair of big blue eyes. "Hi. Mo'gan. Hi!" Her childish voice dragged out the second hi for several seconds.

"Rosie, my lass! Good morning!" She smiled brightly at the toddler, pushing herself upright in the bed. Rosie climbed up into the bed, giving Morgan as tight a hug as she could, her soft baby curls brushing Morgan's cheek as she tucked her head into Morgan's shoulder. The hug was enthusiastically returned and held until Rosie started wriggling around. "I didn't think I'd see you so early, sweetheart, but I'm awfully glad I did. That's the best way to wake up in the whole world." Morgan drawled out the 'o' sounds in whole and world, emphasizing them for the little tot.

"Now, I bet your Mummy doesn't know you're up here with me, so why don't we go find her before she gets worried, hmm?" Morgan grabbed her wand and quickly untransfigured her clothes before smoothing her braid down quickly. Holstering the wand at her waist, Morgan bent down and scooped Rosie into her arms, settling her gently on her left hip, opposite the wand holster. The two of them babbled their way downstairs, Rosie shrieking with laughter when Morgan would grab her belly and tickle it. At the bottom of the stairway, she started wiggling to get down, and once she gained her feet, she ran off giggling toward the back room, yelling "Mummy! Mummy! Mo'gan here! I find her, Mummy!"

Morgan could make out Mairead's voice from the back, frantic with worry. "Rosie! Where were you? Mummy was worried sick!"

Morgan made her way toward the sound of their voices and apologized. "I'm sorry, Madam Mairead. I guess I forgot to lock my door last night. She was staring at me when I woke up, but I brought her right back down."

As she turned the last corner, she saw Mairead kneeling on the ground, arms tightly wrapped around her daughter, violet eyes wet with tears. "Miss Stewart. Thank you! I didn't know what to think when I woke up and she wasn't there."

"It was no trouble. She's very sweet." Morgan smiled down at the toddler, safely ensconced in her mother's arms.

"She's a holy terror is what she is. Always running off to Merlin-knows where. What if it had been someone else in that room?" The worry was washing off of the innkeeper in waves.

Morgan thought about how Muggles kept track of their children during the day when they were busy back in her time, and began planning something in her mind, putting her wand into her hand. She visualized very smooth, very dark wood, polished to a high shine. Four long, thin, but strong legs, connected by two rounded pieces, surrounding the legs at the top and bottom, fastened together by permanent sticking charms. The bottoms of the four legs were extended and rounded out to form sturdy feet.

Thinking about the available materials of the time, she decided to use the same thin silk used for the pretty stockings she had brought, and surrounded the inside of the wooden frame from top rim to bottom, again using permanent sticking charms to fix the strong see-through material to the wood. She visualized more of the polished wood in slats, fitting tightly together to give a sturdy bottom. She made sure the legs and material were tall enough that Rosie couldn't easily climb out, but short enough that Mairead would have no trouble leaning over to pick the child up if she was sleeping.

Everything perfectly visualized in her mind, she closed her eyes and started swishing her wand around in the appropriate motions to conjure the creation into being. Once finished, she opened her eyes and saw the perfect combination of Muggle and Wizarding worlds in this wood and silk playpen. Another quick wave of her wand put a dirt and water-repelling charm on it, protecting the materials from accruing dust or food and drink particles, as young children tend to get their things very dirty.

For the last bit, she visualized a thick, cushy quilt in a mixture of bright primary colors and soft pastels, put together in a beautiful design, imitating a bright sun above a busy meadow on one half, while the other half had a midnight-blue background with a full moon and several twinkling stars, set above the same, calmer meadow in the night-time scene. Again closing her eyes and swishing her wand around, the quilt appeared in the bottom of the playpen, softening the bottom's cold, hard wood.

To make it easier to move around as necessary, she cast a permanent feather-light charm on her creation, and permanent cushioning charms on all the hard pieces to prevent injury from inevitable falls.

Her golden-brown eyes opened and surveyed what she'd wrought from nothing. It was perfect. She grinned as she looked down at the quilt. The day-side had butterflies fluttering around and little bunnies hopping around, munching on clover. The night-side had fireflies and deer, doing much the same animation as the day-side.

Satisfied with what she'd made, she turned and squatted down in front of it, holding her arms out for Rosie, who ran willingly over to her. "Now, precious, this is a present for you and for your Mummy, yeah? It's a place you can nap and play without the risk of you running off to someone who isn't as kind as your Mummy and I are." She stood and set the child down into the playpen. Rosie was entranced by the animated quilt for a moment before standing and yelling, "Mummy. Toys? Bring me toys? Peeze? I play good."

Mairead stood and walked over to inspect the …thing that had been made for her child. "She won't get hurt in this? It feels a bit like a dog cage without a top." She frowned a bit at the thought, but her eyes were soft as she ran her fingers over the flawlessly smooth wood of the upper rim.

"No, there are permanent cushioning charms on anything hard, a feather-light charm so you can move it wherever you need it without throwing out your back, and dirt and water repelling charms to keep it clean, even if she eats inside it. Anything she spills will divert to the garbage can for disposal." Morgan explained the details.

Surprise lit up Mairead's face at the intricacies of the charm work done, the frown disappearing. "You must be very advanced to create something so beautiful and functional. Thank you. This will be immeasurably helpful in keeping her corralled."

"You're very welcome. I do hold Mastery status in both Transfiguration and Charms, and my work allows me a great deal of freedom to exercise both disciplines. I've seen several of my Muggle neighbors use a similar contraption and thought it might be useful, especially with the magical additions I made." Her actual work with the DRCMC allowed her no such freedom, but her assumed job as an Unspeakable would probably have done so.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to wash up and go see Master Hackney. I have a promise to fulfill." Morgan nodded to the older witch and went back up to get ready for her day.

Mairead watched her go, feeling badly for the way she'd acted the night before, but still wanting the bits of Basilisk out of her establishment.

"Mummy? Toys? Peeze, Mummy?" Her daughter's sweet voice floated up to her, softening her features to a smile.

"Of course, darling. Mummy will bring them right back." She turned and summoned Rosie's two favorite soft toys from their room, placing them into the playpen. Rosie sat and babbled with her toys, completely consumed by the novelty of the quilt and her toys.

Mairead shook her head happily and set about starting breakfast for both her family and for the guests in residence.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Morgan showered, brushed her teeth, and set about fixing herself up to look publicly presentable. She added a tint of red to her lips, and a touch of black around her eyelashes. She put her red and blonde locks back into the same bun with loose strands she'd been using, and chose an outfit that was tasteful, and more on the Wizarding side of fashion than the Muggle. Her robes were fitted at the top, sleeves reaching her wrists before coming out onto the back of her hand in a vee-shape, flaring out in the skirt, the whole thing a deep shade of blue. She laced up the low-heeled boots, and topped it with her heavy cloak, adding a loose cowl to the back that she could drape over her head to protect her ears from the wind and her hair from the snow.

She made sure the beaded bag was securely tucked into the inner pocket of her cloak, clipped her wand into its holster, and manually buttoned up the front of the cloak, using the cleverly hidden reversed buttons. Properly covered and ready to face her day, she made her way down the stairs and outside, apparating away to Diagon Alley with a quick turn.

Appearing seconds later just outside the back entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, she carefully walked through the center of the Magical world in Great Britain, stopping at the entrance to Knockturn Alley to breathe deeply, preparing to enter the shadier side of her world.

Where Diagon Alley had been bright and cheerful in the frosty early morning, Knockturn Alley was darker, dirtier, and had a seedier aura. Not wanting to give anyone the idea that she didn't belong there, she kept her face forward and down a little, her eyes wandering without giving any hint that they were doing so. They raced over signs and windows, searching for the name Mairead had given her, and finally happened upon it, about halfway down, close to Borgin and Burkes. She stepped through the door and pushed the cowl away from her face, allowing it to fall down her back. She didn't see anyone at first, so she hesitantly called out, "Master Hackney?"

The shelves around her were filled with bottles and jars and vials, containing either ingredients for potion-making, or already completed potions to remedy common ailments: Headache Lifter, Pepper-Up, Burn Paste, Boil Cure, and Calming Draughts. There were some not so common potions as well. Prepared Polyjuice, ready for the user to add hair into and become someone else for an hour. Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent. _This must be where Hagrid bought his the day he found Harry outside Borgin and Burkes._ Dreamless Sleep, inky black in its small bottles. And Doxycide, very helpful when cleaning houses which had sat empty for some time.

There were more prepared potions, and loads upon loads of various ingredients, all waiting for the discerning customer to purchase, but as Morgan had something to sell, she needed to find the proprietor. She called out again, "Master Hackney? Hello? Is anyone here?"

A rather wizened old fellow, thin as a rail, with no hair left on his head, but still maintaining an impressively long white beard, popped up from behind the counter, his back still hunched just a little from old age. "I'm sorry, dear. Didn't hear the bell ring when you came in."

"There wasn't a bell." Morgan offered.

"Ah, that'll be why I didn't hear it then. In any case, what can old Hackney do for you?" He pulled himself up into a backed-stool and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the glass case which made up the counter.

"I have some ingredients to sell, and I was told you might be able to take them off my hands." Morgan inserted a bit of haughtiness in her voice, trying to impress an air of pure-bloodedness onto the old man, hoping for a better price if he thought she wasn't a Muggle-born. Knockturn Alley wasn't the best place to find pro-Muggle sentiments.

"Of course, of course, Miss…?" There was a gleam in his eyes at the thought of negotiating a good deal.

"Stewart. Now, before I go to the trouble of bringing everything out, I need to know if you trade in Basilisk. If not, I'm wasting my time." She sniffed indignantly, trying to sound like she'd always heard the Malfoys speak when doing business.

"Basilisk, Miss Stewart? It's not an ingredient we get often, but yes, we deal in the material when it's available." The golden gleam in his eyes expanded, stretching his thin lips in a broad smile. He never expected that kind of windfall to come his way.

"Fine then." She drew her wand and undid the buttons holding her cloak closed with a gentle tap to the top one. The little bag was pulled from her inner pocket, and at its appearance, she could see a frown cross his face. "Appearances can be deceiving, Master Hackney. Don't discourage yet."

Holding the bag open with her left hand, she used her wand to wordlessly summon the containers, watching as his frown disappeared and his eyes widened as each container stacked on top of his counter. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips as he thought about the profit contained in these glass bowls. He could see several packages of properly-cared-for skin, one large container holding stacks of proofed vials of venom, and another few holding pristine fangs.

There was the liver, the heart, the kidneys, even the damaged eyes. The bounty of parts and pieces of Basilisk on his counter was worth thousands upon thousands of galleons, if stored correctly to maintain the freshness. Oh, goodness, was that the _brain_? He started internally calculating the profits he could make, and his eyes threatened to roll back in his head as the toll rose and rose. He only hoped this snobby witch was stupid and didn't know how much it was all worth.

Finally, all the containers were laid out, and he estimated that the cache was actually worth about twenty thousand galleons, and his profit would be far, far above that. If he could get it for the right price, he would never have to work again, although boredom would probably keep him here until the end of his days.

"Now, Master Hackney, I'm sure you recognize the true value of what I'm presenting to you, and I'm willing to part with every bit of it, if you're willing to not only pay me what it's worth, but also to never reveal where it came from. I came to you because I was told you keep no written records, and would never divulge my name as a source. I trust this is the case?"

"Of course, Madam, of course. On first glance, I would estimate this is worth about twelve thousand galleons to you, leaving myself enough profit to counter the risks of selling it."

She could see in his eyes that it wasn't nearly enough. "Master Hackney. You are insulting me with that lowball price. We both know that nobody else has anything to do with Basilisks on their shelves right now, and you can charge whatever you want for every little piece, every little crease of skin. Now, give me a reasonable offer, or I'll pack it all back up, obliviate you, and leave. I'm sure Mister Slug or Mister Jigger would be happy to have this, and willing to offer a fair price as well." There was ice in her voice. Yes, twelve thousand galleons was a bloody fortune, especially in 1946, but she would not be cheated.

His face fell with her biting words, quickly stammering out, "No, Miss, no, you don't want those upstarts to get their hands on this! They'll fill out paperwork! Your name would be all over everything! Old Hackney knows how to keep things quiet, you ask anyone. But, Miss, you can't fault me for trying, can you? Now, I can offer you eighteen thousand, and that's the most I can pay. Even with what I'll end up making, I don't have any more than that."

"Eighteen." She let the number roll off her tongue, assessing his body language and seeing that it was probably worth just a bit more, but eighteen thousand galleons was roughly ninety thousand Muggle Pounds, and with inflation to 2005… It was a small fortune, even if she didn't go through with her investment ideas. To think, she'd been worried about paying back the cost of her Apprenticeships.

Eyeing the nervous man, she extended her hand toward him around the stacks of containers. "I believe we have a deal, Master Hackney. Eighteen thousand galleons will be adequate." She paused for a moment. "And you may keep the glass containers. Each one is charmed to be unbreakable, and has a permanent Stasis Charm to prevent the precious ingredients from spoiling."

He eagerly shook her hand. "Will a draft from Gringotts be sufficient for payment? For obvious reasons, I don't keep that kind of cash on hand."

"I suppose that will do, then." She pursed her lips tightly, looking down at him over her nose. His exuberance seemed to wilt away under the glare, as he reached into the drawer under the till for some parchment.

"And to whom shall I make out the draft?" He looked up at her, readying his quill.

"Just make it out to the bearer of the note. I shall assume they will be able to contact you to confirm the validity of the cheque?" She had shifted her gaze to her hand, inspecting her fingernails, while she waited. Morgan was inwardly very nervous about the persona she had adopted, but seemed to be pulling it off flawlessly.

"Of course. No written records." He bent his head back to the parchment, the quill scratching away. After a moment, he set the quill aside and dried the ink with a quick spell before folding it, dripping a bright yellow wax onto the seam, before pressing his seal into the molten glob, marking it as officially having come from him. Another charm had the wax cooled and set, and he handed the folded parchment over into her waiting hand.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you, Miss. Thank you for choosing Silvanus Hackney as your Apothecary today, and I trust that if you ever have anything else you need to sell, you'll remember that you got a fair deal?"

She tucked the letter into her pocket along with her bag, using her wand to button the cloak back up before clipping it back in place.

"Of course, Master Hackney. Thank you." She nodded imperiously and turned to leave. She made her way directly to Gringotts and asked to speak with someone in charge of opening new vault accounts.

She hadn't dropped the persona since leaving the apothecary, finding that her confidence increased by its use. It was just another layer to her glamours, allowing her to pass unnoticed through the Wizarding World of sixty years before her time.

She waited only a couple minutes before a tall Goblin came out to meet her, his nose long and hooked. He spoke with a clear, deep voice, free of the snarls and growls one normally associated with bank employees, though there was still an air of hauteur about him. "I am Ragnok, and I have been told that you wish to open a vault today?"

"Yes, Master Ragnok. I am in possession of a sealed draft which should provide me with more than enough to justify the stellar security for which Gringotts is known." She saw surprise slightly register in his dark eyes at her form of address, making a note to continue using it. She hadn't meant to, as he hadn't introduced himself with a title, but after dealing with the Apothecary, it had been on the tip of her tongue.

"Very well. May I see your draft, Madam?" He held a hand out to receive the bit of parchment. She passed it to him, and after breaking the seal and reading through its contents, a feral smile showed his sharpened teeth to her. "There is no name on this draft, Madam, so we will need to contact the issuer to ensure its validity, and send someone down to verify the availability of the funds. After that, I see no reason why we shouldn't be able to set you up with a vault. Do you know what security level you are seeking?"

"I would like something a bit better than the Blacks or Potters, but perhaps not quite as deep as the Dragons' lairs. Will that be possible?" She began slowly dropping the pureblood persona. The Goblins of Gringotts would know her blood status if she didn't already have access to a family vault.

"Of course, Madam. May I have your name to begin the paperwork while we're waiting for the verifications?" He was still greedily looking at the amount written on the letter she'd handed him.

"Stewart. Morgan Stewart. Thank you, Master Ragnok. It means much that you are willing to help establish my account."

"Madam Stewart." He nodded respectfully, returning her titled address. "If you could just come this way, we have a private waiting room for you while we complete the requisite paperwork and security steps." He held a hand out simply to gesture in the correct direction, and was again shocked when she rested her hand on his arm to be escorted. This was not normal behavior for witches of this time, although it was not unwelcome. He bent his arm, tucking her hand into the crease of his elbow, their heights being nearly the same, making the process easy and the look seamless.

He escorted her into the same private waiting room where he would meet Minerva fifty-three years in the future, and left her with a pot of tea, every courtesy being extended to this most polite of witches Ragnok had ever met in his long life.

From the moment he closed the door behind him, he was running and snapping, trying to get everything done as quickly as possible. One junior-level Goblin whose name Ragnok couldn't remember was sent over to Hackney's Apothecary to verify the draft. Another, who Ragnok thought was Grip-something, was sent down to assure that the funds were available to be transferred. He climbed into his own desk and began searching for open vaults he could assign to her. More secure than the Blacks and Potters would mean something lower than the 700s, as the Black family owned Vault 711, and the Potters were up in 825. Ah, there was a recent opening on the 600 block, and another down on 500. The Dragons' lairs began in the 400 block, so she might pass on the lower of the two, but he would give her the choice between Vault 600 and Vault 540.

He picked up a self-inking quill and began filling out the request forms, skipping over the portions he didn't know, but filling in the rest. Grip-whatever came back, verifying that the funds were there, although it would nearly clean out the man's own vault. That, he told the younger Goblin, was none of their concern, as long as the draft was valid. A moment later, the other Goblin returned and said that Hackney had confirmed that he had written out the note.

Everything was now in place, and Ragnok shoved the mostly-completed papers into a folder, snapping the folder to a clipboard. He took the clipboard and his self-inking quill with him as he rushed back to where he had left Madam Stewart. He paused outside the door for a moment, calming himself. He ran a hand over his hair, slicking it back down, then opened the door.

Morgan had waited patiently, sipping at her cup of tea, and was surprised to see the tall Goblin return so quickly. "Has everything been verified already, Master Ragnok? I admit I expected it to take a bit longer. I have always been told of the slow and surly nature of Goblins, but I'm finding this an extraordinarily pleasant experience."

He stopped inside the door, closing it behind him, his eyes blinking incredulously at the statement she made. "We are happy that you are pleased with your Gringotts experience, Madam Stewart. We have just a few things to cover and then we can take you down to your new vault." He climbed into the second chair, propping the clipboard against its arm as he removed the papers from the folder.

"Of course. Would you like a cup of tea? It was brewed excellently by whomever provided it."

He found himself again surprised. Witches and Wizards didn't offer to share food or drink with Goblins. "No, thank you, Madam Stewart. I prefer coffee when I can get it, and do not care for tea as a substitute."

She was sitting back in her chair, posture relaxed as she sipped at the tea. "Now, what do we have left to do? I assume everything checked out."

"Indeed it did, Madam. Before we can go any further, we will need for you to choose your new vault number. I have two available that fit your security needs. Vault 600 is spacious, and two levels below the Black family vault. Vault 540 is two levels further down, but our Dragon-guarded vaults begin just one level below, and as you stated that you did not care for quite that much security, I thought you might prefer Vault 600."

"I think you'll find that you're correct. I don't want to be so close to the Dragons, so Vault 600 will be perfect." She was completely relaxed, which was the antithesis of how most people approached business with Goblins. Ragnok was finding himself completely enchanted by this unique witch.

"There are yearly fees associated with vaults that deep, and for Vault 600, the fee is fifty galleons per annum. Is that acceptable to you?"

"Oh, no, that's not acceptable at all."

He could feel his dander rising, and started to speak, "Now, Madam…" He found himself cut off before he could finish.

"No, that's not enough for what you're doing to ensure the safety of my money and valuables. No. It must be seventy-five. I won't pay a knut less."

His jaw snapped shut. She was offering to pay _more_? "This is highly irregular, Madam."

"Irregular or not, you will make it happen, won't you, Master Ragnok?"

He shook his head lightly. Witches were crazier than he'd thought. "If that is what Madam wishes."

"It is. Now, is there anything else?"

"No, Madam. It will take only a few more moments to transfer the gold from one vault to the other, and then we can take you down to set your key."

"I do have one tiny request, Master Ragnok. By necessity, I wear a series of glamours, and I will require the ability to keep them as I go down into my vault."

"I believe that can be arranged."

"Thank you. I believe I'll just have another cup of tea while you finish up."

He bowed deeply before leaving the room. As it closed behind him, Morgan snickered softly. She was hopelessly manipulating the poor Goblins so that she could ensure her later reentry to the bank as Hermione. In her own time, she was under a permanent ban for breaking in to steal from the Lestrange's vault. However, if she built a good enough relationship with the Goblins, she might be able to eventually use the Morgan persona and fix that.

It wasn't all manipulation, of course. She really did respect the Goblins as one of the intelligent races that were normally subjected to horrible discrimination. She didn't agree with their treatment of the Dragons they used to guard the high-security vaults, but she couldn't do anything about that in this time. The Dragons had to still be in use when she did eventually break in, so they could free one and escape.

She had just finished off her cup of tea when the door opened again, admitting Ragnok, who bowed again after closing the door.

"Is everything set?" She asked cheerfully.

"Yes, Madam. If you would just sign these documents, your gold has been added to the vault, and we can head on down."

She signed her assumed name with a flourish, and the sheets of parchment disappeared, automatically being filed away upon completion.

"Very good, Madam. Now we can go down and affix your magical signature to the key and the door, establishing entrance protocols." He hesitantly offered his arm as she stood, and she accepted it gracefully, the two falling into step together as they made their way to the cart station. A hair-raising ride later, they arrived at the platform bordering Vaults 600 through 609. He stepped out first, offering his hand to help her out of the cart.

"Thank you, Master Ragnok."

He was still adjusting to the respect she was giving, and couldn't formulate a response. He led her down to the door of the vault, the stone that made up the door crumbling in places, not looking like it would hold up to much if someone tried to break in.

Her lips twitched in a very Minerva-like manner, and she murmured, "Oh, this just won't do." He was startled when she pulled out her wand, and stood still for a moment before closing her eyes and waving her wand in complicated swirls and patterns. Before he could interject that magic was impossible this far down, he saw the crumbling stone begin to solidify again, becoming strong before it started to change from stone into a matte-finished dark metal. If not for the curve of his nose, his jaw would have hit the ground as she not only did magic, but did very advanced magic on Gringotts property.

After just a moment, the old crumbly stone was gone, replaced by strong, thick metal. The numerical marking on the door had also disappeared, replaced with glittering golden script, spelling out Vault Six-Hundred. There remained under the script, a small keyhole, glowing as it waited for the key to be set.

He watched as golden-brown eyes opened and surveyed her work. He wordlessly handed over the blank key, and she inserted it into the lock, completing the required steps to take ownership of the vault. At her gentle touch, the doors swung noiselessly open. There was a golden hoard waiting inside on the stone floor. She nodded. This would do. Reaching down, she counted out fifty golden coins, throwing them into the bag she'd pulled out of her pocket. Now she had some pin money, and there was only one thing left to do.

"Master Ragnok?" She called back to the door, where he was waiting.

"Yes, Madam Stewart? Is everything satisfactory?"

"Oh, yes, this is all perfect. Thank you, again, for getting everything done so quickly. I just have some investments I'd like to make, and I wonder if you could help me. If that's not within your purview, I understand, but perhaps in that case, you could direct me to a solicitor who could do so?"

His chest swelled up in pride. "I would be happy to make whatever arrangements you need, Madam."

"Oh, Master Ragnok, I believe you're my new savior. You've done so much for me today. Thank you!" Before he could think to try and stop it, she had crossed the room to where he stood and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. Unused to this type of behavior, he awkwardly patted her back, not knowing where to put his hands or what to do. After a moment, she released him and began striding back to the cart. He was about to remind her to lock the vault back up when she stopped, grinned at him, and snapped her fingers, the doors swinging back out to seal themselves with a flash of light. She stepped into the cart and sat down, waiting for the Goblin to join her.

No, Ragnok had never met a witch like this before. He found he quite liked it.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Forty-five minutes later found her vault a bit emptier, but still comfortably full, her financial future all but assured. If she kept researching the business world from a future stand point, she would take it all by storm. Invest in things when they need the startup cash, requesting a small percentage of all future profits, then sit back and enjoy the good life once all the time travelling was over.

Having to fill out the paperwork with her assumed name earlier, she realized that she'd just taken for granted that she was the only Morgan Stewart. What if she'd interrupted Minerva on her way to meet the real one? She knew somewhere inside that it was difficult to think that way, because of her experience with Time Turners in Third Year. She'd seen the effects of her trip back with Harry before she knew she'd be making it. Harry had assumed when he first saw the Stag Patronus that it was his dad's, and had been bitterly disappointed to find that it had been his own as a result of a short jump back. That was how time travel worked. You couldn't really change anything, because if you decided to go back, you had already seen the after effects.

But… if she was the only Morgan Stewart, where had the name come from other than Minerva's admissions? Stewart could be a play on her dad's real name, Gilbert Stuart Granger. It's possible she would have used that, to give herself some semblance of a Scottish background and a closer tie to Minerva, but Morgan? The only thing she could come up with was Merlin's female counterpart, Morgana, or Morgan le Fay. It was a name so steeped in Wizarding history, nobody would ever think to question her magical abilities.

She left the bank and stopped by a fresh flower stall to pick up three pristine red roses before apparating back to Hogsmeade. She hurried up to her room, dropping the roses on the end of the bed, and hanging her cloak up. She pulled the little bag from the cloak pocket and went back down to the main dining room. She ordered a bowl of stew and some warm, soft bread with a glass of Gillywater, the drink a nod to her time spent in the inn with Min on her last visit.

After her lunch, she found Mairead and pulled out enough to pay for both stays, along with extra for the care she'd been given, the bottle of Gillywater they'd been handed on the last visit, and her meals. Then she gave the stunned innkeeper another five galleons and told her to put it away for Rosmerta.

Morgan then found Rosie sleeping in the new playpen, snoring lightly, and making Morgan laugh at the cute factor of a snoring baby. She reached down and brushed the back of her index finger across the soft cheek just once before going back upstairs to gather her things. It was time to find Min.

=======================HG/MM=======================

On Hermione's scars: No, she doesn't have the word "Mudblood" carved into her arm. That was a movie invention, and I'm doing my best to stay in book-verse. The only mention I could find of an injury bad enough to scar was Dolohov's attack in the DoM in OotP. I don't think it's explicitly stated that even that injury caused a permanent scar, but I think ten potions a day for ten days might still render a scar, even under Madam Pomfrey's capable care.

I spent a lot of this chapter on things I didn't plan on going into so much detail for. I completely meant for Min to make an appearance, however that will be in the next chapter. Don't worry, it won't all move so slowly, but certain parts just might.

From this point, I feel obligated to tell you that any time Hermione is in the past as Morgan, and she's with Minerva the younger, there is the possibility for smut. I'm completely unconfident in my ability to write it well or convincingly, but the story is telling me that it's coming. So if you open a chapter and see the warning "Here, there be Dragons," be forewarned. It's happening. I give you this subtle warning so that if you're reading at work or whatever, it will have parts that are NSFW. Also, some people are prudish about le smut. I'd hate for you to skip an entire chapter for the sake of one scene, but if that's how you feel, then I can't stop you. You should probably expect it at some point if you're reading M ratings.

All that said, I hope you enjoy this! I managed 8000 some-odd words this evening/overnight. My left hand is actually cramping up. And I can't even go to bed, because I have a doctor's appointment in a couple hours. Dammit.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.

I know, I know. It's really weird to have 8900 story words and no sexy Scottish witch. But hopefully this chapter more than makes up for it.

Just a quick shout-out here to NinjahMonkey1 for submitting SWTT's 100th review! She has been given her prize in the form of one spoiler-rich answer to the question of her choice. Thank you for your support!

"Here, there be Dragons." *coughs*

This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Minerva was bustling around Diagon Alley, getting her regular Friday shopping done. Master Ashmole only required four days of each week for her studies, so Friday was the day she always got everything done in preparation for her weekends off, as well as for the week to come. She had a little extra to do that day, readying herself for the next weekend, which would be the family celebration of Rob's birthday. His actual birthday had been the day before, on the fourteenth, but they had decided to take advantage of the following weekend's student excursion to Hogsmeade to bring the boys home overnight so they could have a proper party.

Minerva had spoken with her mother earlier in the day, and was in charge of finding an appropriate gift, to be given from the family. Isobel would be making all the food, so the gift was her only responsibility. As she flitted from shop to shop, trying to find the perfect item for the sixteen year old, she began to feel a tickle at the base of her skull, setting her off-kilter. She looked around and saw nothing out of the ordinary, dismissing the feeling as she rubbed a hand across her neck under the thick fall of her hair.

The feeling didn't go away, however. Instead, it grew rather stronger as the day and her search went on. She kept thinking she saw a silver flash at the edge of her vision, but when she would turn her head, there was nothing there. Her year spent on the continent, helping out with the war efforts, had honed her defensive skills, and she began looking around for opportunities to duck out of sight.

Spotting an opening to a narrow side-alley ahead, she kept her careful pace until she drew up even with it, stepping quickly to the side and hiding in the tight space, watching to see who had been following her with her wand drawn and in fighting position. She was expecting to find a Dark witch or wizard, but was shocked to find a shining silver spider glide into the alley with her. It raised its front legs while lowering the ones in back, putting its body in a position to look up at her. She could see as the eyes assessed her before the mandibles parted and a low, husky voice issued forth. _Say hello to Charlotte, my messenger, Min. I'm assuming she'll take a while to get you alone somewhere to deliver my message. I'm back and waiting for you at the Three Broomsticks. Come as soon as you can. _

Had that been Morgan's voice? "Is this message from Morgan Stewart?" She didn't know if she could or would receive a response, but when the front legs began raising and lowering in sequence, essentially nodding its head, she breathed a sigh of relief. "Have you been following me?" The same nodding motion followed her question. "Thank you, Charlotte. I shall see her very shortly then." One final nod, and the ghostly spider burst into unfurling columns of smoke before disappearing completely.

Weighing the benefits of getting Rob's gift against the benefits of seeing Morgan, she decided to drop off her current stash of shopping and finish up with the gift later. She was ready to see Morgan. She disapparated on the spot, appearing a second later in her flat. She put the groceries and other items she'd purchased away and straightened up the rest of the flat, doing a quick touch-up on her hair. Instead of her normal braid, she pulled the top and sides back into a high plait, leaving the back loose with the thin braid resting on top. The robes she'd worn for her errands were fine, close in style to the ones Morgan had worn that morning, but were a deep burgundy color, setting off the colors in her eyes and skin. The idea of soon seeing Morgan made her eyes shine brightly, further accentuating their clear green irises.

She took one last glance around the flat to ensure it was ready to host company, and disapparated with a crack. Seconds later, she was walking into the pub, which was full from the late lunch crowd. She searched through the crowd and saw the red and blonde strands of Morgan's hair in a back corner, a soft smile appearing on her face. She quickly crossed the room, and saw the red-head stand as she arrived, pulling each other into a tight embrace.

"I missed you so much, Min." The low voice against her ear made her shudder helplessly.

"I missed you, too. I never knew four weeks could be so slow until now." She closed her eyes tightly, breathing in the citrus and herb scents that made up Morgan's personal aroma.

"As much as I'm enjoying simply having you back in my arms, Min, shall we retire to somewhere more private? I find my lips itching with the need to feels yours, and while I would kiss you in front of the entire Wizarding population, I don't think you would feel comfortable with that." The timbre of Morgan's voice along with the desire dripping off of it made that odd feeling in the pit of her stomach return with a vengeance.

"My flat?"

"Let's go, then." As Morgan's arms loosened their grip, she darted her eyes around to be sure nobody was watching, and discreetly ran her tongue along the outer shell of Minerva's ear before stepping away toward the door.

Minerva was stunned by the move, and found herself unable to move for a second. Surely she should think that such a thing should be disgusting, but her ear was tingling, matching the growing heat low in her belly, having found that she thoroughly enjoyed the brief contact. She turned and almost ran, trying to catch up to a smirking Morgan, waiting just outside the front door. She saw as the older woman winked before disapparating with a quiet crack. Minerva followed suit, concentrating on her flat and appearing there to find Morgan waiting with that same knowing smirk on her face, and golden brown eyes filled with something Minerva couldn't readily identify. The black cloak had been tossed carelessly over the back of her small sofa.

"Can I kiss you now?" The low voice issued from lips glistening from having been moistened with the tip of a pink tongue.

Without waiting to respond, Minerva swooped in, one hand on Morgan's neck, the other on her cheek, their lips meeting hungrily, immediately opening to admit surging tongues. Morgan's hands moved to the taller witch's back, rubbing and caressing the taut muscles there, burying one hand in the loose waterfall of silky black hair. The tip of Morgan's tongue traced the ridgeline in the roof of Minerva's mouth, feeling how it made the younger woman shudder with unfulfilled desire.

The left hand on her neck began to quest lower, sweeping over her neck and shoulder, sliding under her arm to skim over her ribcage, coming to rest on her waist. They pulled back, chests heaving while they fought to catch their breath, breasts rubbing against breasts through the cloth of their robes, causing them to both breathe even more erratically, looking deeply into each other's eyes.

Morgan's free hand came up to gently cup Minerva's face, thumb running gently over the jawbone. "Hi." She grinned goofily before reaching over to brush her lips across Minerva's a couple of times before pulling back, the grin returning.

"You know, where I come from, the salutations come first, before the passionate kisses take place."

"Do they? I'll have to remember that for the future. 'Say hello to Min _before_ kissing her.' Is that the way?" The grin had grown, turning back into a smirk.

"I may be able to make an exception where you're concerned." She wiped the smirk off Morgan's face the best way she knew how: she kissed it away, pulling the other woman closer, pressing their bodies flush against each other. She heard a quiet groan as the hand at Morgan's waist moved around to the small of her back and then down a couple of inches to lightly press on a rounded cheek, the forwardness of the move surprising both of them.

The feel of those long, thin fingers on her bum, combined with the lips ravaging her own and the pressure where her breasts were rubbing against Minerva's caused a flood of moisture in her old-fashioned knickers. She pulled back from the kiss, resting her forehead against Minerva's, and struggled to calm down and catch her breath.

"Was that… did I do wrong?" Minerva was nibbling at her bottom lip, worried by Morgan's reaction.

"No, my darling, no. It was a little too right." Her thumb was running over Minerva's high cheekbone, but reached down to pull the tender lip free. "I just don't want to move too fast for you. I've only just arrived, and I have a couple of weeks before I have to be back. We don't have to rush right into bed because I'm here today. We have plenty of time." She pressed a quick, gentle kiss to pouting lips before stepping back from the embrace, putting some necessary space between them.

"Now, am I okay to stay here again, or do I need to extend my stay with Madam Mairead?"

The abrupt change in the mood of the room threw Minerva off. "Oh, um, no, you can stay here. Of course. Unless you'd rather not."

"Of course I'd rather stay here, but I don't want to cause any problems with your benefactor."

"Ah, no. He's always said the reason I have a second bedroom is for people to use. Though you're the only one who's ever slept in it." Her parents rarely left Sarclet, their home in the Highlands, (*) and the boys always went home during school holidays. She had a few friends from school, but apart from Pomona Sprout, they weren't what one would call close, and even Pomona had never been to her flat. Morgan was the only visitor she'd had in the flat since she'd moved in the previous July.

"Oh, so it's _my_ room?" She teased lightly.

"For now, yes, you can call it that."

"For now? Are you planning to kick me out soon, then?"

"No, but I know you'll have to leave again eventually, and then it'll go back to being the guest room until you come back." She had to think about the situation pragmatically. Morgan wasn't there on a permanent basis, and she had to keep herself thinking that to avoid the inevitable heartbreak when she had to go again.

Morgan's mouth opened and closed a couple times, unable to find words to address this very real issue. Finally, she muttered sadly, "Well, I'm here now. Let's go get me unpacked." She picked up the cloak and went into the guest room.

Minerva followed behind, feeling the hurt roll off the shoulders in front of her, knowing it was because of her comment, but also knowing that it was entirely true.

Morgan was thinking the same thing. It was all her fault. It wasn't anything over which she had any measure of control, but it still stung to think about it. She threw the cloak onto the bed, unclipping her wand and rifling through the pocket of her cloak for her bag. She unsnapped the clasp and tossed the bag onto the bed as well, summoning her hard blue suitcase from its depths, catching it easily in her free left hand, laying it on the bed on top of her cloak.

Minerva sat on the opposite side of the bed, next to the cloak and bag, and was surprised to see such a large item come flying out of the small purse. She sneaked a peek, and saw nothing out of the ordinary. It was just a plain cloth purse, covered with colored beads, with a pink silk lining and a silver-colored metal top-clasp. She couldn't see anything in there at all.

Morgan waved her wand a few times, sending all the items from her now-open suitcase flying into the wardrobe, everything properly hung or folded and put away. The boots and shoes were lined up in the bottom, and the suitcase was stashed behind them, resting against the back wall.

She saw Minerva's quizzical expression as she stared into the bag, knowing she couldn't see its endless space or any of its contents. Quietly, she summoned the small pouch holding the gold she'd retrieved from the bank earlier, almost giggling at the look on Minerva's face as it came flying out to clink in her hand.

"What…? Morgan, where did that come from? The purse is empty." She was very confused.

"Is it? I could swear there's more in there." She stepped closer to the bag and reached her hand in, seeing the shock register as her arm disappeared up to the shoulder before reappearing holding a stray knut. She giggled, unable to hold the secret back any longer. "Undetectable Extension Charm." She muttered a few words under her breath, allowing Minerva in on the charm's secrets. "Take another look, dearest."

Wary of the bag, Minerva did lean back over to peer into it, her eyes widening at the many things she could now see resting inside. "That's amazing, Morgan. I've never seen anything like it."

_Shit. Have these charms been invented yet?_ She ran through the history that had been drilled into her brain by Mistress O'Neill during her training. She breathed a sigh of relief when she finally remembered that the extension charms had been in use for several years by the time the war against Grindelwald had started. Even in her own time, they weren't very widely utilized.

_Double shit. Did Minerva ever see me with this bag?_ She thought back over the years since she'd made the bag before heading out on the run. _No. She never saw it with me. Yet another part of my history which will now become Morgan's. Remember never to show it to Minerva after I get back._

"Thanks." She smiled warmly at her would-be lover. Looking back through the little bag, she didn't see anything else she needed, so she snapped the top closed and stashed it carefully in one of her drawers.

"It's the same theory behind school trunks or camping tents, though a different incantation is used. Standard extension charms expand the interior space of the item, but the effects are visible and usable by anyone who happens to peek inside. The undetectable version requires the item's owner to grant others permission to see that there's anything off about it. At times, sounds will escape the undetectable nature of the charms, but it's fairly rare. Useful bit of magic, actually. Makes anything I shove in there weightless, as though I'm carrying the empty bag that everyone else sees." Morgan lectured, her voice taking on the teaching aspect she'd had to use with Harry and Ron so often over the years of their friendship.

Minerva sat and took in the information, nodding in understanding. "That must come in handy as an Unspeakable."

Morgan's eye twitched slightly. "Indeed, it does. I get sent out on so many different types of missions and assignments, and it always pays to be prepared." She reached down for her cloak, hanging it up and closing the wardrobe door. All of her belongings sorted out, she sat on the edge of her bed and lay back on the pillows, crossing her feet at the ankle. "Come here," she asked, her right hand brushing over Minerva's left where it was being used to prop herself up. Minerva worked around, snuggling down into Morgan's arms, settling into the same position they'd been in when they had slept at the inn in Hogsmeade.

As she had then, Minerva reached across to twine their fingers together, brushing the knuckle of Morgan's thumb with her own, loving the way the older witch's other hand skimmed up and down her side. She nestled her head on top of Morgan's chest, the insistent _thump-thump_ of her heart comforting. Morgan's right hand moved up and pulled the loose tresses free, running her fingers through the soft length over and over, making Minerva sigh in contentment. She placed a gentle kiss on top of her head before turning her face slightly, pressing her cheek against the spot she had just kissed. They lay like that, cuddling and enjoying the comfort of each other's touch, for quite some time.

"I like your hair this way. Free, yet confined at the same time, much like its owner." Morgan's voice was low and heavy, full of unspoken emotion.

Minerva just hummed her agreement, drowsy and feeling very safe in the embrace. "Warm. Your hair's like fire. Dangerous but so warm and safe. Love it." She murmured, drifting off to sleep. "Love you." Her breathing evened out as the last words tumbled from her mouth. Morgan kept carding her fingers through the softness of the long black locks, mulling over the sleepy admission. Would she remember when she woke? Did it even matter? She moved her hand to rest on Minerva's waist and pressed another kiss to her head before giving in to sleep herself. She would worry about everything else later. For the time being, she was just happy to be back with her Min.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Minerva roused a short time later, alone in her guest bed, the indentation next to her almost cold. She pushed herself up and called out, "Morgan?"

"In here!" She heard from somewhere else in her flat. The shadows were deep, and the sun almost down. She reached up to rub the sleep from her eyes, upset that she'd fallen asleep so easily in the daytime. She climbed from the bed and stepped out into the main room, noticing the cheerfully crackling fire and the mouth-watering aromas coming from her kitchen.

"Are you cooking?" She walked toward the kitchen, Morgan popping her head around the corner to smile at her.

"Yep. Hope you don't mind, but I'm starving, and I figured you would be as well after you woke up from our little nap." As Minerva stepped into the kitchen, Morgan kissed her lightly on the cheek, going back to stirring the contents of a pot. "There's tea brewed if you want some."

"I think I just want some water," she said, reaching for a glass from the cabinet before filling it with a quick _Aguamenti_. "What are you making?" she asked curiously. "It smells amazing."

"Just a quick Shepherd's Pie. I wasn't sure if you liked it or not, but it seems like the kind of thing everyone likes, so I went for it." The ground lamb was browned, so Morgan dropped in a pat of butter, watching as it melted, then threw in a couple spoons of flour, stirring constantly to keep it from burning while the base for the gravy formed.

"I love Shepherd's Pie. No need to worry there." Minerva finished off her glass of water and set it next down, noticing the mound of steaming boiled potatoes sitting in a colander in the sink. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You can mash the potatoes if you want, but you don't have to." She poured in a generous amount of broth, leaning her head back to avoid a face full of the bubbling steam, keeping her hand moving to make a thick, creamy gravy for the pie filling.

"I can do that." Minerva grabbed a large bowl and poured the hot potatoes over into it, adding butter and a touch of cream along with salt and pepper, then began mashing the mixture together, forming a lump-free puree of potatoes.

Morgan added more seasonings and a bowl of mixed vegetables to the gravy, turning the fire down underneath it to allow it to simmer long enough to start cooking the peas and carrots through. "Here, let me," she said, reaching for the bowl of mashed potatoes. The texture and flavor were good, but she needed to add one more thing to make the perfect pie topping. She used her wand to set a small piece of white cheddar cheese to grating itself.

They had been in companionable silence since discussing the potatoes, but as Minerva saw everything that was going into the pie, she frowned lightly. "I didn't have all these things in here. I might have had a couple seedy potatoes, and I bought a few groceries this morning, but I know I didn't have any lamb or cheese, or this many potatoes."

Morgan blushed lightly, dumping half of the now-shredded cheese into the potatoes, stirring to allow it to melt in. "I may have gone down the street to the Muggle shops to get what I needed."

The frown on Minerva's face grew deeper. "What if I'd woken up while you were gone? I might have thought you had left for good." She could feel the panic rising in her chest at the thought of waking alone, her hands gripping the edge of the counter with white knuckles.

"I wouldn't do that to you, Min. I promise. I left Charlotte to let you know if you woke up."

She could feel Morgan's hand as it gripped her own where it was still tightly holding to the counter, and the touch began to calm her down.

"Charlotte… the spider?" Morgan nodded, pulling her hand up to press a soft kiss to the back before releasing it to turn and stir the thick gravy. "What is Charlotte, Morgan? The only thing I've heard of with a similar appearance is a Patronus charm, and to my knowledge, those can't be used as messengers."

_Damn. I didn't think about that. Dumbledore hasn't invented the method yet because Voldemort isn't a threat and there's no Order. Think, Hermione, think!_ "It is a Patronus. Beyond that, I can't say much. It's a top-secret methodology only available to a select few Unspeakables right now." _Bravo!_ She turned the fire off under the pot and poured its contents into a deep ceramic baking dish.

"Do you think you could teach me? Not necessarily the messenger portion; I understand if that's not possible, but just the Patronus itself." She passed the bowl of potatoes over.

Morgan started spreading the potatoes over the top of the baking dish, covering the hot filling. "You don't know how to cast a Patronus?"

"No, not yet. Professor Dumbledore was able to cast one, of course, but it's not in the curriculum for Hogwarts, and I'm pursuing a Mastery in Transfiguration, not in Defense or Charms."

The rest of the cheese went on top of the potatoes along with some crushed dried parsley, and it went into the hot oven. Morgan then turned to face Minerva, who was looking nervously down at the counter. "Of course I can teach you. It's much easier to learn than to cast in the presence of actual Dementors or Lethifolds, but I don't see where you'll have any trouble with it."

Minerva looked up from the counter. "Have you ever faced a Dementor or Lethifold?"

Morgan stopped her efforts to gather the dirty dishes and looked Minerva in the eye. "Lethifold, no, thankfully. Dementors, though… yes. It's … not pleasant. At the time, I hadn't had much practice with the charm, and nearly failed to produce it in time." Minerva could see the pain haunting her, the normally golden-brown of her eyes darkening to nearly black. "As I said, it's much easier to cast without them around."

Minerva stretched out one hand and touched Morgan's arm comfortingly. She didn't know under what circumstances the older woman had faced down Dementors and almost lost – she couldn't bear to think about what would have happened if the charm hadn't eventually worked – but she never wanted to see that look of pain on her face again.

"I'm… I'll be alright, Min."

"Will you?"

A smile ghosted across Morgan's face. "Of course I will. You're here."

The hand on Morgan's arm gripped tightly, pulling her into a close embrace. She returned the hug for several long, quiet minutes before stepping back, her eyes back to their normal golden color. "Now, let's get these dishes done so we can concentrate on eating when this thing's ready to come out of the oven. Hmm?"

=======================HG/MM=======================

They had done the dishes together, the Muggle way; Morgan washing in hot soapy water while Minerva rinsed in clean cool water before laying everything out on a clean towel. A couple quick charms had them dried and put away once everything had been washed.

When the pie had finished, they'd sat down to share the meal together, washing down sumptuous Shepherd's Pie with a glass of red wine. Their conversation was light and pleasant, Minerva filling Morgan in on her life during the weeks she'd been absent, and Morgan wishing she had been there.

Morgan sent the leftover pie to the refrigerator under a mild stasis charm, and set the few remaining dishes to wash magically. They poured another glass of wine each and withdrew to the sofa, Minerva curling into the warmth of Morgan's side, their conversation moving on to some of the Transfiguration theories Minerva had been learning. They continued in that way deep into the night, until a loud yawn issued from Minerva's throat. Deciding to go ahead and get some sleep, they shared a brief, tender kiss before retiring to their separate beds for the night, both wishing silently that they could sleep together as they had for their earlier nap.

=======================HG/MM=======================

The next morning found neither woman rested enough for the time spent in bed, both of them having tossed and turned all night, unable to get comfortable enough for deep sleep while knowing the reason lay in just the next room, separated only by a wall. Minerva was too scared to jinx the burgeoning relationship by being too needy, and Morgan didn't want to rush things too much.

Minerva woke from her thin sleep just before dawn. She had a quick shower, then wrapped herself in a thick robe to watch the sun finish rising while attending to her hair. She smiled, remembering Morgan's compliment of the half-loose style she'd chosen for the previous day, but chose her regular thick, long braid for the morning, thinking she could always change it later if necessary. As the sun finished cresting, she softly padded from the bedroom into the kitchen to prepare breakfast, still wrapped in the thick, warm robe.

She pulled out pots and pans and bowls, preferring to cook the Muggle way most of the time; the way her mother had taught her when she was growing up without magic. It calmed her to leave her wand put aside for a while sometimes.

She filled one pot with enough water for porridge, and set it on high heat to boil, turning on the oven at the same time. Knowing the oats would take the longest to cook, she started preparing everything else while she waited. Pulling out a cutting board and a slab of bacon, she sliced off several thick rashers, setting them down into a glass baking dish, ready to bake once the oven finished heating. She wrapped the remaining slab of smoked and cured pork in the butcher's paper, sealing it with a bit of spellotape and replacing it in the refrigerator.

A quick _Scourgify_ had the knife and cutting board clean, and she used them to slice some thin pieces of bread for toast, buttering both sides and stacking the slices on a plate. Peering into the pot on the stove, she could see the water beginning to boil. She added some salt and a couple pats of butter, stirring until the salt was incorporated and the butter was melted before adding some of the steel-cut oats she kept on hand, stirring that in as well before turning the fire down and setting a lid over the pot. The glass dish went into the hot oven, and she pulled some fruit from the refrigerator to cut up.

She made quick work of the apple and orange, putting half of each into two bowls; one for her and one for Morgan. Stirring the cooking oats, she knew she had a few minutes before anything else needed her attention. She carried the bowls out to the table and walked over to Morgan's door, pressing her ear against it to see if she could hear signs of life from within.

Hearing nothing, she cracked the door open and peeked in. Morgan was sprawled across the bed on her stomach, the covers having been tossed off in her fitful sleep. Minerva giggled at the sight of the grey and white striped men's pajamas, but appreciated the view they offered, twisted tightly against the redhead's lithe body. Her hair had been smoothed back into the normal sleep-braid, but several pieces had worked loose, and one was plastered firmly into Morgan's open mouth. Her open and … drooling mouth.

Minerva hadn't expected to see the normally poised woman drooling all over her guest bed, and almost dissolved in a renewed fit of giggles. Pulling her wand from the deep pocket of her robe, she cleaned the drying saliva from Morgan's cheek and the mattress underneath her before sitting on the edge of the bed. She bent down, her fingers pulling the abused lock of hair away, tucking it back behind her ear, before placing a soft kiss to the now-clean cheek.

Morgan turned over at the contact and mumbled "M'n'rva" sleepily, her left arm throwing itself over her eyes to protect them from the morning light streaming into the room.

Minerva temporarily lost the ability to breathe. Morgan muttering her name in her sleep was adorable, but what had stopped her was the pajama top. It was the kind that buttoned up the front, and several of the buttons had come undone with the fitful attempts to sleep alone. The few remaining fastened were stretched by the turn, gaping open and revealing the rosy peak of a breast through the expanded neckline. All moisture fled from Minerva's mouth, and the hand that had just smoothed the hair from Morgan's face couldn't help but stretch itself to run the back of two fingers gently over the exposed swell of flesh. It was incredibly soft, and Minerva could see that the contact along with the cool air of the room was causing a reaction, drawing and tightening the nipple to a hard peak, the color deepening from a light pink to a darker red.

She was so focused on that reaction that she didn't see as Morgan's breath hitched and her arm rose to her forehead, her eyes blinking blearily up at the unaware witch in her bed. Wanting to see what Minerva would dare next, she forced herself to stay absolutely still, giving no signs that she was awake.

Minerva was fascinated by seeing what her touch had wrought, and brushed her fingers – oh, so softly – down the valley between the full breasts before coming back to the visible curve, gently exploring the new territory, her hand turning to press the underside of all four fingers and her palm to the softness of the outer side while her thumb brushed tenderly across the tight bud several times.

Morgan couldn't help but gasp lightly at the touch, and horrified green eyes rose to meet dark brown. "I, oh gods, I'm sorry!" Minerva snatched her hand back and fled back to the safety of the kitchen, her face a florid shade of red, embarrassment and shame washing over her in turns. She had enough presence of mind to stir the bubbling porridge, and cast a quick spell to turn the bacon over in the oven before tightly gripping the counter in front of her, her head falling forward so that her chin rested against her chest.

"Please don't, Min. You didn't do anything I didn't enjoy." Morgan's voice ghosted over her shoulder, and strong hands lightly gripped Minerva's upper arms from behind.

"Ye dinna understand, Morgan. My parents always drilled into our heads that any uninvited contact was the same as rape. 'Twas aimed more at Malcolm and Rob than at me, but I was always told that if anyone treated me the way I have just treated you that I was to hex him where it hurts and run for help. I canna…" Tears were rolling down her cheeks, the emotional upheaval causing her Scottish heritage to be evident in her speech. Contractions were rolled with the same fluidity as the r sounds.

Morgan's hands drifted down to wrap themselves around her waist, pressing her chest against the sobbing woman's back, and her cheek against a shaking shoulder. "Shh, Min. It wasn't uninvited contact. It wasn't rape. It was the best way I've been woken in quite some time. Please stop crying. Please."

"I'm sorry. I'm so verra sorry, Morgan. Please dinna hate me. I couldna bear that." The harsh sobs were starting to choke her, and the words were hard to get out.

"Oh, Min. I could never hate you. Never. You did no more to me this morning than I did before I left last time. Did you feel as though the contact was uninvited then? Do you feel as though I raped you?"

"Well, no, but it wasna the same thing." The crippling heaves of Minerva's chest were calming a little with understanding, rendering her easier to understand.

"It was exactly the same. If it helps, you have unlimited access to my body any time you want, Min, even if I'm asleep. I guarantee it's the best possible method for pulling me from sleep and having me be happy to be awake." Her voice remained soft and low, her cheek still pressed firmly against the shoulder in front of her, which was thankfully not shaking as hard as it had been when she'd first walked into the kitchen.

"Truly? Ye dinna hate me?"

"Impossible, darling. It's absolutely impossible. I meant what I said. I could never hate you." She could feel Minerva slumping forward in relief at her words, and dared to press a gentle kiss to the exposed nape of her neck.

Minerva shivered at the brief contact before lightly pushing Morgan back, forcing her release. She used the sleeve of her thick robe to clean the evidence of her crying from her face before speaking, her brogue gone again, her voice imperious and bordering on what Morgan remembered hearing from her future Professor in class. "We have about ten minutes until breakfast will be ready. You may want to take this time to shower." She stirred the pot's contents, adding in a bit of milk.

"I think I will." Morgan smiled, happy to see her witch back to normal. She placed a quick peck on her cheek before skipping into the bathroom for her shower.

Minerva used the remaining time to heat a skillet, toasting the buttered bread slices and loading them into a plate. In the last couple minutes the porridge needed, she threw in a handful of golden currants, a bit more butter, and some brown sugar, stirring vigorously to be sure everything incorporated well. She heard the water from the shower cease, a blush spreading across her cheeks and down into her chest at the thought of a wet, naked Morgan in the next room.

Shaking off the thoughts, she dished up the porridge, pulled the crispy rashers of bacon from the oven and placed them on the plate with the toast, carrying the bowls and plate to the table before going back for flatware and a pitcher of juice, along with a couple of small juice glasses. She had just finished setting the table when Morgan came out of the bathroom, having transfigured her pajama top into a robe similar to Minerva's. It wasn't as thick, but was every bit as warm and comfortable. Her damp hair was back in the thick braid, and she brought it over her shoulder when she sat in the dining chair, not wanting to sit back against it and get her back and the chair wet.

"This looks and smells delicious, Min." Her stomach rumbled, causing both of them to smile.

"Well, apparently you were very hungry. It's not a full Scottish breakfast, nor even a full English breakfast, but I can never stomach anything too heavy in the morning." She picked up the pitcher of juice and poured some into her own glass before offering some to Morgan. "Juice, or would you prefer … oh bother! I forgot to make the tea."

"Juice is fine." Morgan smiled reassuringly as Minerva poured her glass. "I never eat a full breakfast either. I normally have an egg with either bacon or sausage with toast. The porridge is a delightful substitute for the egg." She was lying just a bit. She wasn't really very fond of porridge, but spooned a bite into her mouth anyway to please Minerva, surprised at the different flavor and texture of the oats. She swallowed before exclaiming, "That's the best porridge I've ever had! It's very different from what I'm used to getting. This is really delicious!" She took another bite, closing her eyes at the deliciously rich dish.

"That's because 'tis real oats and not those flattened things the English try to pass off as an acceptable substitute. My mum cooks it every morning, and adds the same things. A splash of milk close to the end, currants, butter, and brown sugar. Proper porridge." She sniffed indignantly at the horrors of rolled oats instead of her beloved steel-cut being used to blacken the name of porridge.

"I never knew there was a difference, but really, this is delicious. My compliments to you and to your mum for teaching you to properly prepare it." Morgan dug back into her breakfast, enjoying this variation on her typical morning fare.

Minerva did the same, the two sharing the meal in companionable silence. When they finished, Morgan banished the dirty dishes to the sink, setting them to wash themselves.

"So what's the plan for today?" Morgan asked, leaning back in her chair.

"I have a bit more shopping to do for the week, and I have to find a birthday gift for Rob, but other than that, I'm all yours."

"Mm, I like the sound of that," she said with a wicked gleam in her eye, causing Minerva to lightly blush. "I need to grab a few things from Scribbulus, so if you're not opposed to being seen in public with me, I can go with you."

"I'd like that." She smiled over at Morgan, deciding to tease her a little. "And why wouldn't I want to be seen in public with you? You weren't secretly a member of Grindelwald's Army, were you?"

"Didn't you know? I was one of his generals. I'm on hit-lists all over Europe," she said, going along with the joke.

"Maybe I ought to bring you in then. I'd get a very nice reward for a General."

"Hmm, what if I offered you a bigger reward than the Ministry?"

"I suppose it depends on the kind of reward you're offering."

"Be careful what you ask for, Min. I'd give you anything; everything."

Minerva glanced up at this deeper turn the conversation had taken and noticed that Morgan's eyes had darkened again like they had been earlier when she'd woken up. "I, um, that's … wow. How about you?" She asked in a moment of bravery. "Can I have you as my reward?"

"I can't give you that, Min." Her eyes fell to the floor, unable to look up any longer. Seconds later, she felt the warmth of Morgan's hand at her cheek, tilting her head back up to look directly into the shining orbs that had gone from golden brown to a deep shade of chestnut. "I can't give myself to you, Min, because you already own me. I am totally and completely yours. Forever."

Minerva leaned forward and captured Morgan's lips with her own, accepting the precious gift she'd been given. She pulled back after a moment, and took a few seconds to compose herself. "We should, um, get dressed and go now." Morgan's thumb caressed the high arch of her cheekbone and then the warmth of her hand was gone.

"We should." Morgan stood from her kneeling position, and turned toward her room. "When we get back, Min, we need to talk about this." She disappeared behind the bedroom door, and Minerva finally stood and went to dress herself.

=======================HG/MM=======================

An hour later found them in Scribbulus Everchanging Inks, Morgan carrying a goodly supply of parchment, ink and quills, and Minerva looking at writing cases. There was one in particular that had caught her eye, and she ran a finger appreciatively over the wood and brass creation.

It looked like a miniature trunk, only with a flat lid instead of a rounded one. She tilted the lid back, noting the space inside for storing fresh sheaves of parchment. The lower level folded forward at an angle and was covered in a stiff leather, providing a hard place on which to write without allowing the quill's nibs to damage the wood underneath. There was a series of small, square-shaped cubby-holes at the top of the inclined writing area, set up to hold bottles of ink in place, and a longer, rectangular section to hold pens or quills. From the back, there were graduated drawers for storing other bits and bobs that you might want to carry with you for writing; sealing wax, stamps and seals, or even little pots of dried ink powder for reconstituting to write on the go. While the case would be quite heavy once filled, there were ways to get around that for the discerning Wizarding client.

Minerva wanted to get it for Rob, as he was destined to be the writer in their family. He was already an avid correspondent with several students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, as well as with a couple of American students attending the Salem Institute in Massachusetts. Looking at the price tag, however, dampened her spirits. It was more than the family fund would cover, even with her personal addition to what Isobel had given her. Sighing, she closed the case back up and began looking at other, more inexpensive writing cases. She had nearly settled on buying a smaller one that was within her budget, when Morgan's low voice sounded nearby.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" She was running her fingers along the polished wood and brass of the case that had so caught Minerva's eye. "Is this what you were looking at for Rob, or for yourself?"

"Rob. I'm not much of a letter-writer." She picked up the smaller case she was considering. "I thought about this one instead. It's a bit smaller and will be easier to carry around."

Morgan frowned, thinking. "It's smaller, yes, but this one is so much nicer. It'll last him longer, and function better."

"I still think this is the better choice." Minerva's voice was quiet, trying to avoid mentioning her financial state.

"I don't see how."

"This one's less expensive," Minerva whispered. "I don't have enough for the better one."

Morgan looked at the price tags. "There's only two galleons between the two, and I can make that up for you."

Minerva's heart fell. "You don't have to do that. I can get this one and he won't ever know the difference."

Morgan's eyes darted around, making sure nobody was paying attention to them before raising a hand to briefly dust her fingers across a smooth cheek. "You and I would know. And wouldn't he like this one more?" She paused for a moment, receiving no response. "Min, I don't want you to be sad because you had to settle for a gift you didn't want to give. I know what that's like. I have more than enough to help you out, and moreover, I want to do it. Let me?"

"Very well then." She replaced the small case on its shelf. Morgan handed her the two golden galleons she needed, and she tucked them into her pocket with the rest of her money before reaching for the larger one, carrying it up to the counter. She was excited to be able to get the nicer gift for her brother, knowing that this gorgeous writing case would last him a lifetime, but feeling horrible that she couldn't afford it on her own. She was living on Dumbledore's stipend, and it just didn't allow for much leeway in buying anything other than the necessities. She paid the nine galleons and waited for Morgan to finish her own shopping.

A minute or two passed before Morgan breezed up to the counter to pay for her own purchases. She had added a couple extra rolls of parchment, a bottle of darkest black liquid ink and a packet of dried ink powder in the same color, two excellent quality quills, one in silver and one in green, and a silver pen with a set of nibs. After paying for the lot, she shoved it all down into her bag, picking up the case by its handles, not wanting to risk scratching the beautiful wood by putting it in her bag as well. "Shall we?" She smiled over at Minerva, whose eyes still shone with a deep sadness.

"Aye." The two witches left the shop and apparated back to Minerva's flat.

Morgan set the case on the table, removing her cloak and draping it across the back of her chair, seeing Minerva do the same with hers. "Min?" She softly questioned.

"I would like to make some modifications to Rob's gift if I may."

"Modifications?"

"Charms. A permanent feather-light so it won't be so heavy to carry around, and I'd like to charm one of the rear drawers with the Undetectable Extensions I use on my little bag so he can store as many letter-packets as he needs without having to worry about storage space. Also, I figure that Slytherin may not be the most private of Houses, so the Undetectable nature of the charm would protect his letters from being found by anyone not clued into the charm's existence."

Minerva was moved by the gesture. It would make an already excellent gift into the perfect one. "That would be very nice of you." She paused to clear her throat. "Thank you. For everything."

"You're very welcome. I want you to be happy, Min, and I will always endeavor to keep you that way."

As Minerva disappeared into the bathroom, Morgan pulled her purse out, and summoned the writing supplies she had just purchased, fishing out the later additions. She opened the writing case, and the Slytherin-colored quills went into the rectangular pocket set aside for them, along with the silver pen and its nibs. The bottle of liquid ink went into one of the square sections, and the little glass bottle of ink powder went into the other. The parchments were tucked into the bottom section of the fold-out writing surface. She folded the angled portions back together and settled the lid closed. Turning the case around, she surveyed the rear drawers, deciding to turn the top drawer into the extended one, turning the most useless of small spaces into the most useful instead.

She removed the drawer and pulled out her wand, closing her eyes to begin casting the complicated series of spells and charms that made the magical extensions work properly. A moment later, she put her wand aside and reached an arm deep into the expanded drawer, feeling to make sure she had added enough extra space, but not too much. The small drawer would now be able to hold five times as much as the entire case would normally be able to hold. It wasn't so big that he would never be able to find everything, but it was large enough to hold several years' worth of letter-bundles without issue.

She sensed, rather than saw Minerva reenter the room, and absently asked, "Do you think this is enough extra space," passing the drawer over.

Minerva stuck her hand in and measured the extra available space. "Should be," she replied, handing the drawer back.

Morgan replaced the drawer, and picked her wand back up to cast the permanent variation of the Feather-light charm, ensuring that the small chest would never be too heavy to easily transport.

Finished with her additions, Morgan snapped her wand back into its sheath, and turned her attention to Minerva. She was surprised to see the sadness from earlier lingering in her eyes. She reached over for Minerva's hand and pulled her over to the sofa. Once they sat, she asked, "What's wrong, Min? Something's bothering you."

"Rob's birthday celebration is next weekend, and I have to be there overnight Saturday. I want you to come with me because we're friends, or maybe more, but we can't _be_ more in front of my parents."

"I see."

"And you said after what happened this morning that we need to talk about the 'maybe more' part and I'm worried that my wanton actions while you were sleeping have made you not want the 'more' with me and the fact remains that we're two women who shouldn't _want_ the 'more' with each other. I've tied myself into knots all morning, Morgan, and …"

"Shh," Morgan interrupted by placing a finger against her lips. "We do need to talk about things, and this is the biggest reason why." She removed the finger and brushed the back of it across Minerva's cheek and then down to lightly chuck under her chin before dropping away. "There's a lot to be confused by here, and I understand that. I've been where you are; awakening to the thought of being with a woman the way society says you should want to be with a man. The sight of a hard, angled chest should be enough to take away your breath and make you feel weak in the knees with a belly full of desire, yet instead it's the soft curve of a woman's breast that makes you feel that way. People expect to see you swept off your feet by a man's tight muscles, by the wiry hair that peppers his arms, or that rakish mustache and beard, but they do nothing for you, or little enough as to matter.

"You recognize the beauty of the male form. You understand that it's what you should want, but you don't. Instead you find that your head is turned by a laughing pair of eyes, or a soft cheek." Her hand found itself raised again, fingers dancing over Minerva's eyebrows and eyelids, gliding down her cheek to rest on the tip of her chin, one fingertip lightly brushing back and forth over the thin bottom lip above it. "Or the velvet smoothness of a woman's kissable lip." She leaned forward and pressed the gentlest of tiny kisses to the corner of her mouth.

"I know what I want, Minerva, and I'm not afraid to tell society what to do with their expectations of me. However, if you can't look inside yourself and tell me that you want the same things, then I can go. It will break my heart to leave you, but if being with me isn't what you want, if you find that the things I just said aren't true for you, or even if you do like women that way but don't want me, then I will do it. I will wish you all the happiness in the world, even if I can't be the one to give it to you. You just need to decide what you want."

"Knowing what I want isn't the issue, Morgan. I'm trying to figure out if what I want is the right thing."

"Love is always the right thing, so long as both parties involved agree." She stood. "I'm going into the other room for a minute to let you think. We'll talk more when I return, yeah?" Minerva nodded, and Morgan disappeared into her bedroom, the door closing with a soft snick.

Minerva wanted desperately to believe what Morgan was saying, but it went against everything she'd ever been taught. Then again, marrying a Muggle had been against everything her mother had been taught. Locking away her wand and never doing magic had been against everything she had been taught. Even with the strain of secrecy, however, her parents were happy with each other. Maybe it was really just a question of perception. Isobel must have initially screamed over how it wasn't right to love someone without magic, but she had. She did, still. Maybe loving a woman was the same thing.

_She's right. Even though I know my family won't approve, love is the right thing. I __**do**__ love her, and although she hasn't said it, I'm certain she loves me, too. If she doesn't, what was the point in fighting to get me to see all this?_

She jumped up and nearly ran to the bedroom door, opening it without knocking. Morgan was sitting on the edge of the bed, her elbows on her knees, hands splayed over her face. She was obviously worried about what Minerva's choice would be. When the door closed again, the latch snicking shut, she stood and looked toward the door, surprise written on her face at the sudden appearance of the object of her thoughts.

"You were right. Love is always the right thing, and Morgan? I love you. I may not be free to show that in front of my parents, but I will never lie to you, and I will never keep secrets from you. You said last night that you can't give yourself to me because I already own you. Well, I'm staking my claim."

She took one step forward, seeing Morgan do the same, and in a rush of steps, they met in the middle, mouths clashing together in a furious tangle of lips and tongues. Minerva pulled pins from the red curls, fingers trembling and stumbling in their efforts. Finally, the last one fell to the floor and the thick hair fell free. One obstacle out of the way, she reached for the long zipper running down the back of Morgan's robes. She dragged it down only a couple of inches before the redhead pulled back from their kiss, noses still touching, and brown eyes searching green.

"Are you sure, Min? Because if we start on this path, I won't be able to turn back, and I won't ever let you go."

"I'm sure. I told you, you're mine, and I'm never letting you go, either." She growled the last words out before angling up to nip at the end of Morgan's nose. "Mine."

"Yours, then, Min. Forever."

Morgan turned around, and Minerva slid the zipper down to her waist, pressing small kisses in the trail of exposing skin. Once the material was loose, her hands slid up to push the bodice down by the sleeves. Once her arms were freed, Morgan shoved impatiently at the waist of her dress, thick linen pooling at her feet as it fell, leaving her in her underwear and stockings. Turning to face Minerva, she could see the normally clear green eyes darkened and clouded over with desire for what she saw.

She kissed Minerva again briefly before trailing kisses over her cheek and down her neck. Her hands unzipped the black robes while her mouth was laving and sucking on a throbbing pulse-point. Soon, there was a dark red mark on the tender spot, and both sets of robes were on the floor at their feet. Grabbing hold of her hands, Morgan backed them toward the bed, stopping when her knees reached the edge.

She released the trembling hands and reached back to unfasten her bra. Swallowing heavily, Minerva reached to do the same, both pieces of cloth hitting the floor at the same time. The sight of the completely unfettered breasts caused Minerva to quickly inhale, unable to stop her hand from rising to caress it the way she had done earlier. Without the pajama top in the way, she noticed an old scar curving across Morgan's ribcage on the left side, ending just shy of the full breast she was holding. Her fingers dropped to trace it, eyes rising questioningly to Morgan's.

"Childhood accident. Hasn't hurt in years. Nothing for you to worry about." Mirroring Minerva's earlier action, Morgan ran a finger down the middle of her chest before curving around to cup the small swell in her hands, thumb pressing against the nipple, feeling it tighten against the pressure. "Gods, you're beautiful, Min. Perfect."

Their lips met again in a passionate kiss, bare breasts touching each other between them. Morgan's hands lowered to caress the satin-clad cheeks, pulling at the loose panties, groaning as they fell, revealing soft skin to her hands. She gripped at the soft cheeks, pulling them even closer together, if possible. She kissed her way over so that her lips hovered over Minerva's ear and whispered, "Lie down."

The low words in her ear increased the tingling pressure that had been pooling low in her belly, and her knees turned to jelly. Morgan pulled her hands back, and without their support, she sank down onto the edge of the bed and lay back, waiting for Morgan to join her.

Morgan was a vision standing in front of her, her red and blonde hair a tangled halo around her head, her full breasts swaying gently, stomach trim and lightly muscled, legs slim and fit, the apex of her soft thighs still covered by the loose satin panties favored at the time, and the stockings still sitting in place, courtesy of a little magic.

A pink tongue darted out to moisten full lips, then Morgan knelt on the bed, one leg on either side of Minerva's waist, leaning down to press a series of short kisses all over Minerva's face, starting at her forehead, then moving to her eyes, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, over to her ear, repeating the caress she'd liked in the tavern the day before, then across the bone of her jaw, to her chin, before finally touching their lips back together. Minerva felt like a puddle of goo lying there, her hands having risen to sit on the satin-covered hips resting over hers.

The lips didn't stay still very long, moving on again, trailing down to the red mark at the base of Minerva's neck before moving ever on, nipping at her collarbone before going even lower, finally reaching the gentle swell of a breast, fingers clenching tightly in the satin material as Morgan's hot mouth covered the tight nipple of her left breast, sending swirls down to the tingling mass in her belly, making her back arch up from the sensations. When the cool air of the room rushed back over the hot flesh, she nearly cried out from the loss, but the heat simply moved to the other breast, giving it the same attention its mate had just gotten.

Minerva couldn't stop the mewling noises from leaving her throat, thoroughly enjoying the feel of those hot lips and the smooth tongue as they paid homage to each breast in turn before leaving, another trail of kisses leading lower across her stomach, the tongue dipping briefly into her navel on its way down.

As Morgan moved her mouth down, her hips had to move as well, and soon Minerva's hands had nothing to hold onto. They gripped tightly to the blanket underneath her, having nothing else within reach.

Morgan slipped off the edge of the bed, kneeling on the floor, and pulled Minerva several inches toward her, nudging at her knees so she could kneel between them. She could see the pink flesh in front of her darkening as blood began to rush into it in response.

Her left hand glided up the quivering thigh to reach for Minerva's hand, twisting their fingers together. The right reached for the tight bundle of nerves and vessels, brushing a thumb across it experimentally, trying to judge how to proceed based on the response she received.

Green eyes slammed open at the contact, and her fingers tightened where they held Morgan's. "Oh!" The feelings that had been building in the pit of her stomach all rushed to that one throbbing spot before blooming out, making her body flush all over. Another brush of Morgan's thumb made her back arch sharply, and when the heat of Morgan's mouth found the center of her desire, she couldn't hold back. As the tongue moved back and forth over it, her hips began moving of their own volition, and little sounds were escaping unknown from her own mouth and throat.

When a long finger pressed slowly into her, words began issuing forth, both in English and Gaelic, and all of them meaning the same thing: _more_! In place of the swirling tingles, there was something else building; a pressure like water building behind a weakening dam, threatening to spill over and burst. Morgan released her hand and reached it up to squeeze her breast, gently pinching at the nipple, adding to the building pressure. Left adrift, her freed hand found its way into Morgan's hair, unconsciously pulling at it painfully.

The finger started moving in and out, curling up at the end of every thrust, meeting the pressures her tongue was placing on the outer bundle on the inside. The sharp noises Minerva was making were getting louder, and the pressure was growing with every movement, her hips moving erratically, and her toes beginning to draw up. Her breath was coming out in short panting bursts, and when Morgan used her teeth to lightly bite, the dam finally broke.

She screamed her release, body shaking all over, tears flooding from her eyes. Morgan removed her finger and moved up to claim Minerva's mouth in a hard kiss.

=======================HG/MM=======================

I know. I'm bad at le smut. Don't shoot me for writing it badly.

I'm so sorry the chapter's so late this week. My dog had to spend a couple nights at the Vet, and has been super whiny and clingy since coming home, and then I had a couple days of serious writer's block to contend with. It just hasn't been a great week for me and writing. So sorry. Hopefully the long chapter and the nature of its content will be enough to placate you until I can bang out another.

* Sarclet is a small township in Caithness County, along its Eastern Shore, just south of Wick. All Jo gave us on Pottermore was that they lived on the outskirts of Caithness, which I'd assumed to be a town. I was wrong. It's an entire county along the very northern-most boundaries of Scotland. I have, therefore, had to construct more backstory for our dear Minerva, as well as for Robert and Isobel and the McGonagall and Ross clans, who, in my imagination, hail from Thurso, also in Caithness County, about 25 miles away from Sarclet. Close enough that he could easily have been offered the Parish upon completing his time in Seminary, but far enough away to ensure no contact between the young couple and the families who disowned them when they chose to marry. None of it's strictly necessary information, but as I'm choosing to include Robert, Isobel, and the two boys in the story, I had to come up with something, or I felt like I had to. Far more backstory has been written than anyone will ever see or hear, but I have to keep everything straight in my mind, and all the elaborate backstory helps.

Along those lines, I found an internal error of my own invention in Chapter Eight. According to the family tree, Malcolm was born December 1928 and Rob was born November 1930, but I referenced them as being 16 and 14 (sixth and fourth years), respectively, on Minerva's birthday in October. That was obviously incorrect, as at that point they would have been 17 and 15 (seventh and fifth years) using those birthdates. I have corrected the reference, and I realize it's probably a moot point since I made up the birthdays, but I am not redoing the family tree chart/graphics. It's easier to fix the story references. The family trees are, if you're interested, in the pics folder referenced at the end of the chapter. If you don't want a sneak peek at a future side-ship, though, I'd avoid the one marked 'spoilers.'

I've taken my attempts at the Scots burr from the way I've heard it - admittedly only from TV and Movies - and also from the way it was written out in the Outlander series, which was one of many novels that have attributed to my love for Scotland (as well as my own heritage, although I've never been). If it's too annoying to read, I can go back in and change it so that you only get the description of her rolled contractions without the changing of "n't" to "na" and "you" to "ye" in the dialogue. I don't anticipate using the brogue/burr too much though, so if there aren't too many complaints, I'll likely leave it the way it is. (BTW, if you know of any sexy Scots living in my area, throw them my way, eh? It's just I have a thing for accents, and this particular accent may be my biggest weakness. *wink*)

If you're interested in the antique writing case I've used as inspiration, there's a picture at hollibee dot com slash pics. It's named SWTTrobswritingcase, and I shamelessly stole it from an auction house's website. Their description said the thing weighs 20 pounds, even when empty, and was meant to be carried around by valets or ladies' maids. Thank goodness for feather-light charms, eh?


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which sadly, really isn't me.

I think after the end of that last chapter, this might go without saying, but …

"Here, there be Dragons."

If you check my profile, you'll find a new link to a Resources page that I put together. It contains some of the extensive backstory I put together, links to all the images I've referenced in various chapters, and it will continue to be updated as new images are added and new pages are required. There is a new photo for this chapter: a sewing pattern image for the type of panties/knickers I envision Minerva and Hermione wearing in this chapter and the last one. Here's a spelled out non-link if you prefer that: hollibee dot com slash pics slash swtt dot html.

This is un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

=======================HG/MM=======================

The rest of their Saturday was spent in bed, learning each other's bodies, losing themselves in passion and lust. Minerva was hesitant at first, but watching as her lips and fingers caused visible and audible reactions from Morgan spurred her on, her shyness melting away to a smooth confidence that there was nothing she could do that wouldn't make her lover shiver and moan in pleasure.

Finally, both of them completely exhausted by their repeated activities, Minerva curled into Morgan's side, hands entwined and legs tangled together, and they slept.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Hours later, Minerva woke, her bladder screaming. She gently extricated herself from Morgan's hold, and managed to wriggle out of the bed. Quietly, she padded out of the room and made her way into the bathroom. After relieving herself, she flushed and stood at the sink to wash up. While drying her hands, she looked at herself in the wall mirror. There were several reddish spots covering her neck and chest, and her long black hair was a frightful mess, as they'd gone to sleep before securing it back in her signature braid. She ran a brush through her hair quickly before flipping the light switch back down and going back to the spare bedroom.

She stopped in the doorway to stare at the vision awaiting her. A single beam of moonlight filtered through a crack in the curtains, highlighting the unearthly beauty of tangled red and blonde-streaked hair as it trailed over lightly tanned skin. The bedsheet only partially covered Morgan's body, draping its way across her hips, leaving her bare chest open to the air and to Minerva's searching eyes. There was a slight frown on her face, the fingers on her outstretched hand twitching as though searching for something.

Minerva stepped forward and climbed back into the bed, filling the void she'd left when she got up. When her back brushed over the twitching fingers, they calmed, and the frown disappeared from the sleeping face, replaced by a gentle smile. Minerva brushed her lips across the now smiling ones and then moved up to her ear. "_A rúnsearc, táim i ngrá leat_." She felt Morgan's arm tighten around her in response to the whispered words.

Pulling the sheet and blanket up to cover both of them, Minerva snuggled into the warmth radiating from her lover and quickly fell back to sleep, lulled by the comforting rhythm of Morgan's breathing and heartbeat.

=======================HG/MM=======================

"My darling, I would stand atop the Ministry and proclaim to all present that you are mine, now and forever, but I have no family and no reputation to maintain while buried in obscurity as an Unspeakable. I have nobody here except you, and you are all that matters to me. So the decision lies with you. Whatever that decision may be, I shall do my best to abide by it."

Morgan spoke quietly, her words full of emotion and promises, punctuating her statements with a bite of Minerva's lovely porridge. They had awoken in the early dawn and praised at the altar of soft flesh with tender caresses. They had lain in the afterglow, basking in the shared heat until a growl sounded from Morgan's belly, making food a priority for the then-giggling women. A quick shared shower later found them in the kitchen, dressed in their bathrobes, Morgan perched on a stool in front of the counter, watching as Minerva prepared their porridge, bacon, and toast as she had the morning before.

"As much as I would love to do the same, you're correct in your assumptions that it's not quite that simple for me. I don't know how my family would react, especially given my parents' history, but it's not something I wish to test." Minerva paused to chew a bite of toast. Swallowing, she continued. "Thankfully just the two of us being in public together wouldn't serve to raise any suspicions, and even if it did, I would never be ashamed to go out in public with you. I do want you to come with me for Rob's birthday, but it must be simply as my friend."

Morgan nodded grimly. "I understand that, Min. It might be a mite difficult to remember to keep my hands to myself, but I can do it." She did want to shout from the rooftops that Minerva McGonagall belonged to her, but not only was that impossible as it stood, but it was also rendered further impossible because she wanted to use her real name. _"MINERVA MCGONAGALL BELONGS TO HERMIONE GRANGER, NOW AND FOREVER!"_ She could only imagine the reaction that would cause in the ripples of time.

"Thank you, Morgan, for understanding." Minerva used the last bite of toast to sop up the remaining porridge in her bowl, popping the delectable bite into her mouth. There was some kind of gleam in Morgan's eyes that she couldn't quite place, but she shrugged it off and swallowed her toast, washing it down with a sip of juice.

"I have just one more question."

Minerva's eyebrow rose mischievously. "I can't answer it until you ask."

Despite the teasing nature of Minerva's response, Morgan's face was serious as she asked, "What do we do if, even with our best efforts to hide the, as you put it, 'more', your family senses something's going on and asks? I don't want to cause problems, Min, but neither do I want to lie outright. It's one thing to lie by omission and keep us a secret, but what if they ask?"

"I …" Minerva's mouth opened and closed several times, unable to formulate a response.

"Just cross the bridge if we reach it?"

"I… yes. I don't want to lie to them at all, really, but the lie of omission doesn't seem quite as bad. If we slip up or they ask, then we'll assess the situation and react based on the perceived attitude. Is… is that alright with you?"

"As I said, darling, it's your decision to make. All I want to say is that if secrecy from your family and from the public at large is what you want, then I support that fully, however, I want as few secrets between us as possible. There will always be a certain amount of ambiguity involving my job and where I am when I'm not with you, but I will never lie to you unless it's necessary or in pursuit of a surprise, and I expect the same from you."

Morgan knew she would always be the one holding the greater burden of secrecy, because how would one address the issue of _'oh by the way, I'm here from the future, where I know your eighty-year old self and I'm your former student because you go on to be the most brilliant Transfiguration teacher Hogwarts has seen, surpassing even the indomitable Albus-bloody-Dumbledore. Also, I know you think I'm four years older than you are, but I'm actually fifty-four years younger!'_? It was an impossible situation to explain.

"We are of the same mind there, then. My parents' marriage was strained for years because of secrets and lies of omission, and although they are happy together, it still becomes an issue from time to time." Minerva's eyes grew sad, thinking of her parents and of Dougal, the Muggle she'd nearly married. "Secrets from others are one thing, but I will not keep them from you."

They had finished eating, and Morgan sent the dishes to wash themselves. "Well, now that's all settled, and we've definitely established that we are, in fact, a 'we', it appears that we have the rest of the day to do what we want. How shall we spend it?"

The flush spreading over Minerva's face and chest indicated where her thoughts had taken her, and Morgan chuckled, a wicked gleam sparkling in her eyes. "Well, that's certainly an option if you think you're up for it, but a second day spent in that way might be too much for me."

After some discussion, they decided to start working on Minerva's Patronus lessons. Abandoning the idea of doing the work in their bathrobes, they went to their respective bedrooms to get dressed. Morgan came out in loose brown trousers and a tank top styled after a man's undershirt, while Minerva came out in a black mid-calf length skirt and a white oxford shirt. Morgan grinned at this reminder of her future friend, and then started thinking back on the DA lessons with Harry when she'd learned to cast her Patronus. "Are you ready, Min?"

"As ready as I'm going to be, I suppose." There was a hint of nervousness behind her words, although her voice was solid and strong.

"Alright. We need to start preparing by meditating a bit." She sat on the floor, crossing her legs in front of her, gesturing for Minerva to join her. "Have you studied the Animagus process at all?" Morgan knew the answer already, but since Minerva didn't know that, she had to ask.

"I have," she replied, surprised by the question. "Why?"

"I haven't mastered it, and have barely even studied the process, but this first part is very similar to the beginning parts of learning to be an Animagus, from what I've heard." She placed her palms flat on the floor in front of her knees, and straightened her spine as much as possible, slightly leaning forward to maintain the contact. "We begin, as I said, with meditation. Calm yourself and find your center."

Minerva put herself in the same position as Morgan, wondering what this had to do with summoning a Patronus, but doing what she was told anyway. Her eyes slid closed and she forced herself to relax each muscle in turn. She could hear Morgan's voice humming peacefully, adding to the calming fog surrounding her mind. Finally, she was totally relaxed, completely calm, and deep into her meditative state. A clear voice penetrated the fog, telling her to stand, keeping her eyes closed. She did so, rising effortlessly from the floor, her hands remaining flattened and outstretched in front of her. After a few seconds, she felt her wand being pressed into the palm of her right hand and she closed her fingers around it, loosely gripping the slender piece of wood, feeling the tingle of her magic radiating from the points of contact with her palm and fingers.

"Now, Min, I need you to picture the happiest memory you have. Get it clear in your mind, and let the joy and happiness wash over you." The clear voice passed through the fog once again. A jumble of memories flashed over her mind, settling on one particular moment. She felt the joy, the happiness, the sheer ecstasy she'd felt suffuse the fog and seep into every pore.

Unbeknownst to her, her lips had formed the most beautifully blinding smile, the brightness of her bliss evident. Morgan wondered briefly what memory could cause such an effusion of exhilaration, but moved on so the moment could be captured.

Minerva felt heat rush inward from her hand as fingers caressed the appendage, the heat growing with the increased contact of an arm lined up against hers, of a soft chest pressed against her back, and a line of fire drew itself across her belly, wrapping its fingers around her waist. The clear voice came in a whisper next to her ear. "Now. Cast." Their voices merged together, calmly casting, "_Expecto Patronum!_" She felt as her wand hand was led in a series of expanding circles, and as the words left their lips, a burst of magic sprang forth, fed by her happiness and the warmth surrounding her. Her eyes opened to see a brightly shining silver kitten pouncing around the room, chasing the darkness away with its playful presence.

"Well done," Morgan whispered into her ear, pressing a tender kiss into the hollow behind her lower lobe. The kitten having found nothing to dispel other than innocent shadows, it disappeared in a plume of silver smoke. Morgan stepped back, taking her heat with her, and Minerva shivered in its absence.

"I have a kitten Patronus?"

"It seems so. Hmm, shall I call you my little kitten from now on?" Morgan's voice was light and teasing.

"It would be appropriate, I suppose, but I would rather you didn't." Minerva frowned in thought for a moment before smiling enigmatically. Calling back upon that inner calm, she closed her eyes and felt herself shrinking, her bones changing, and her body shifted into its Animagus form. Her eyes opened again, her head tilting up to gaze upon a bluish-grey version of her red-haired lover. "Mrrow." She trotted over and rubbed her head against the linen-covered leg, purring softly.

"Well, well. You have studied to be an Animagus, haven't you, Min?" Morgan crouched down low, reaching to scratch behind the grey ears butting up against her ankle. She'd seen Minerva's Animagus form before, of course, but fifty years in the future, the cat would have pale lines around the eyes matching the square-shaped frames of the older Minerva's glasses.

She remembered reading somewhere that all Animagus forms had some distinguishing mark that matched their human counterpart, and without the eyeglass frames lining her eyes, Morgan could see the younger Minerva's mark. In amongst the light grey fur, the black stripes were darker and more prominent, and there was one long black stripe leading from a solid black head down her spine all the way to an all-black tail. The rest of her tabby stripes angled and twirled out from there, but her signature black braid was clearly represented in this long line of dark fur. Morgan's memory of future Minerva's feline form no longer had this dark stripe, but instead carried the pale white lines of the eyeglasses she didn't yet need.

Her right hand lightly scratched its way down that stripe before capturing the tail gently between her fingers. It was summarily jerked out of her grasp, sharp teeth finding their way quickly to nip at her fingers as a warning. Minerva changed back to her regular human self, crouching on the floor, panting lightly, her pupils widely dilated. "'Tis verra sensitive, ye ken?" Her voice was thick and deep, the brogue returning with a fierceness Morgan hadn't expected.

"What does it feel like, Min? When I stroke your tail." Morgan was strangely affected by seeing Minerva in such a state.

"Shall I show you?"

Her breath hitched at the suggestion, and she felt warmth pooling at her center, moisture beginning to seep out. "I think you should."

A predatory gleam appeared the suddenly catlike green eyes, and the wand pressed to the floor beneath her hand was raised and lowered quickly, whispered words banishing their clothes across the room, leaving them both completely naked. Her tongue traced her own lips in a very feline, very sensual manner, and then, just as her patronus had pounced on the shadows earlier, Minerva pounced on Morgan, her hands pressing against shoulders, forcing them to meet the carpeted floor, her hips cradled between raised knees.

She lightly bit at Morgan's lip, soothing the tender spot with a gentle lap of her tongue before beginning to move lower, the rapacious glint her eyes remaining as she trailed fire over and past heaving breasts and a flat stomach, her target just a bit lower.

Morgan raised her torso and head as the lips and tongue moved slowly, resting on her bent arms and keeping eye contact as Minerva's nose nudged against her aching clit, making her groan. "When ye stroke my tail, it feels a bit like… this." Her tongue raked upward from the weeping channel and over the swollen bundle of nerves. The combination of the vibration of Minerva's desire-thickened voice and the ruthless stroke of her tongue was too much. Her arms collapsed beneath her, her head thumping to the floor and her eyes closing, as her hips jerked forward, aching for more friction.

Minerva made another languid pass, savoring the feel and taste, her hands gripping at Morgan's hips in an attempt to keep her still. She plunged her tongue into the damp hole before bringing it back out and up, pressing against Morgan's clit in a back and forth motion before repeating the previous action again and again. She loved how every little movement of her tongue caused a different sound to escape from her lover's throat. Her eyes cut upward, and she could see Morgan's hands, one buried in her own red hair, and the other pressed against one side of her face, her mouth open and the tanned skin of her chest and belly flushed and rosy in the firelight. She had never been more beautiful to Minerva than in that moment.

She brought her right hand down from where it had been clamped onto Morgan's hip, concentrating her tongue on the glistening nub, and pressing her middle and ring fingers firmly into the tight passage just below, curling up at the end of every thrust. She almost allowed herself to purr as this new sensation caused an entirely different sound to float toward her listening ears. Morgan began chanting, her words a litany of "Oh god, Oh Min-ER-va, Oh god Oh god Oh GOD SO CLOSE," her low voice rising in pitch as she came closer and closer to the edge. Minerva pressed her tongue and her fingers once more, in tandem, harder than she had before, and Morgan came with a rush, her voice gasping Minerva's name over and over.

Minerva removed her fingers and blazed a trail of small kisses upward, silencing her witch with a thorough exploration of her mouth with her tongue. Their lips broke apart, both panting and trying to relieve their lungs' aching for oxygen. Minerva collapsed on top of Morgan, held in place by firm arms around her back, and her hips again cradled between folded legs. She laid her head on Morgan's shoulder and buried her face in the crook of her neck.

Morgan found that her brain was beginning to be capable of thought again after the intense orgasm, and the depth of her emotions hit her like a brick. She turned her head and pressed a soft kiss to Minerva's sweaty brow. "I love you," she whispered, her heart swelling with the emotion.

"And I love you," Minerva whispered back.

=======================HG/MM=======================

They lay like that for several minutes until the cooling sweat on their bodies began to make them shiver. Minerva pushed herself up first before reaching to help pull Morgan to her feet. They shared another passionate kiss before reluctantly parting to search for their clothes. Dressing only in their shirts and knickers, they settled on the small sofa in front of the fire, cuddling tightly together and covering their legs with a tartan throw in red with blue and green crosshatches and thin white stripes. *

Snuggled together, and warm in front of the fire and under the blanket, they were quiet for a while before neither could take the silence any longer. They started discussing the theory behind the Patronus and Animagus spells, and why they often chose the same form, but not always. The conversation moved from there to why Morgan's Patronus was a spider, and then to Minerva asking why Morgan hadn't undergone Animagus training. Morgan explained that she simply hadn't had time in her schedule to attempt it, but that she would like to someday when time was more plentiful.

They left their little sanctuary long enough to heat up leftover Shepherd's Pie, finishing off the dish before returning to the sofa and returning to their earlier conversation. The rest of the afternoon passed in the same manner as their morning. When the evening shadows began to appear on the walls, they decided to take their evening meal at the Three Broomsticks, visiting with Mairead and baby Rosmerta.

After dinner, Morgan wrapped Minerva securely in her arms and apparated them home. They each took a moment to brush their teeth, and then with only their eyes, decided it was time for bed. Moving into Minerva's bedroom, they slowly removed each other's clothing with deft fingers and questing lips before falling into the bed, tenderly worshipping each other's bodies.

A couple hours later found them sated and snuggled together tightly. Minerva reached to pull the sheet and blanket over them, and once covered, they slept, content to be together.

=======================HG/MM=======================

The next morning brought them back to Earth with the realization that Minerva had her studies to pursue. She woke first and took a quick shower, pulling her hair back into its signature braid, and covering a couple of very visible love bites with simple glamours. She sat on the end of the bed to pull on her boots, and the movement woke Morgan, her arm absently searching the bed for Minerva, and waking unpleasantly when her reaching hand found nothing but cool sheets.

"Good morning, darling." Minerva's voice drew her gaze to the end of the bed.

"You're too … dressed." Her sleepy voice made Minerva want to crawl back into the warmth of her embrace and stay there, but she had an education to complete. "C'mere." The thick, low voice tugged at her heart, but somehow she resisted its pull.

"I have to go, Morgan. I don't want to, but I don't think Master Ashmole will accept the excuse that 'my lover was calling me back to her soft, warm bed' as an excuse not to show up today." She leaned over and languidly kissed Morgan's pouting lips.

"Technically, this is your bed, and I think it's a perfectly wonderful excuse."

"Oh, aye. You would, but then again, you are temptation made flesh, _a rúnsearc_." One last quick peck on the lips, and Minerva straightened up, standing and pressing the wrinkles from her robes with her hands. "I'll be home by six, depending on how late the lesson goes today." She glanced down at the pouting face of her very naked lover, wishing she could stay. "I'll miss you. I don't know how I'm ever going to concentrate on my lessons when all I'll be able to see is this vision of you lying naked and waiting in my bed."

Morgan's foot reached up to lightly pinch a robe-clad bottom between her toes, making Minerva jerk away with an amused glint in her eyes. "Devil-woman. Nobody should be able to pinch with their toes like that." Her hand rubbed the abused part of her posterior.

"You should see what else I can do with my toes." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, and Minerva sighed.

"I guess I shall just have to find out later. I really have to go now or I'll be late. Now lean up and give me a good-bye kiss."

Morgan got up on her knees, the sheet falling away to reveal her body in all of its bare glory, making Minerva inhale sharply. Morgan wrapped one arm around Minerva's shoulders before claiming her lips in a bruising kiss, her free hand laying claim to a breast through the tight bodice of Minerva's robes, her thumb circling a quickly hardening nipple. The kiss went on for a mere moment before Minerva pulled back, her eyes closed and her breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Gods, woman. I love you."

"I love you, too, Min. Now go," the hand that had been pressed to her breast moved down to lightly pat her bottom. "Work hard, study, learn a lot, and then, when the day is over, come back to me."

Minerva took a couple steps backward, her eyes fluttering open before looking directly into the dark brown eyes in front of her. "Always," she promised before turning to walk into the living room. A sharp crack later, Morgan was alone in Minerva's flat.

She fell back onto the bed, her arms stretched out to either side, and exhaled. She lay there for a moment, the weekend catching up to her in a rush of emotion as tears began to trickle from the corners of her eyes.

_Merlin, help me. In a couple of weeks, I'm going to have to go back home, completely and irrevocably in love with a woman who will not love me as myself once I get there. I'll be spending my life coming back and forth between a woman who loves me in disguise and a mentor who knows me better than most but doesn't love me romantically. And I'll have to lie to her over and over for years in both personas when we've just made this vow against secrecy. How am I going to survive this? How is she going to react when I'm finally able to reveal myself to her? Will she be able to reconcile the two people into one person she could love the way this younger Minerva loves her Morgan? Will she ever be able to forgive either persona for sixty years' worth of what she will see as betrayal?_

The tears were falling in earnest by that point, and there were ugly sobs wracking her body as it turned in on itself, curling into the fetal position, tightly clasping her knees under her chin. She cried for a solid hour before making herself stop before becoming ill. As she and Minerva had decided the day before on the topic of "coming out" to her family, she would just do what she had to do and cross that proverbial bridge when she reached it. She wouldn't deny the love and happiness to either herself or Minerva, and if it ended in heartbreak, then at least Minerva would finally have the closure she was desperately seeking back in Hermione's time.

She dragged herself out of the bed and took a long, hot shower, ridding herself not only of the sweat and tears on her skin, but also of the guilt and remorse in which she'd wrapped herself while she cried. After leaving the shower, feeling cleansed and happy again, she dressed in appropriate outerwear and arranged her damp hair in the bun she was accustomed to wearing as Morgan, securing it with pins and a bit of magic.

Her stomach started loudly protesting its empty state, so she took stock of the kitchen, making a list of things she would need to purchase for their dinner, and resolving herself to the idea of being a temporary housewife while she was in the past with Minerva. _If Ron could only see me now._ She amused herself with the thought. Checking her store of money, she determined she had plenty to see her through the rest of her stay, but it was all in Wizarding coins, and she would need a bit of Muggle money to make all the purchases she wanted.

Seeing a pot of Floo powder on the mantle, she threw a bit into the cold fireplace, casting a mild _Incendio_ on it as it landed on the ash and remaining bits of charred wood, flaring a bright green. She stepped into the green flames and stated her destination, clearly and loudly, "Gringotts Bank!" The familiar sensation of sliding through narrow chimneys along the Floo Network ended as she gracefully stepped into the bank's lobby, removing the spare bits of ash and soot from her robes with a whispered spell.

She found a free clerk and changed out enough galleons to receive fifty pounds' worth of notes and coins, knowing that in the post-war economy, it should be enough for anything she might want or need to buy in the Muggle world. As she tucked the money into a small uncharmed Muggle bag, she noticed Ragnok making his way into the building.

"Good morning, Master Ragnok," she cheerfully greeted the tall goblin.

His head turned sharply in her direction, relaxing when he saw who had addressed him. "Good morning, Madam Stewart." He bowed lightly, and shook the hand she proffered with a firm grip. "Is there anything I can do for you this morning?"

"No, I can't think of anything, Master Ragnok. I was just swapping out a few galleons for some Muggle money, as I have a few errands out in London proper today." Her voice was pleasant as she tucked the little purse into the inner pocket of her cloak along with the beaded one she would use to store any purchases she made.

"Very well, Madam. If you ever have business within the bank, you may feel free to ask for me, even if it is as mundane a matter as changing currencies out." He had never made an offer like that before, and it shocked the clerks close enough to have overheard it.

"Thank you, sir. I very much appreciate the courtesy, and I admit that I do now have a question, if you could be so kind as to answer it?"

"Of course."

"As I said, I have some errands in Muggle London today, and I'm certain I changed out enough Galleons for Pounds, but if I find myself in need of something which costs more than what I have with me, is there a system in place allowing for cheques or drafts which are payable to Muggles who are unable to access Gringotts?"

Ragnok blinked. He had never heard of such an idea, but it was tempting. They did have a system allowing for the exchange of Galleons to Pounds and other foreign currencies with a Muggle bank, but they simply traded for the Muggle currencies in plain gold, using one of their many Human employees. Not many of their customers dealt with the non-Magical world, and those who did simply used the exchange method she had just used, and spent the money wherever they wanted.

"We do not currently have such a system in place, Madam, and I apologize for the inconvenience. It may be possible to liaise with a Muggle bank to establish one, however, if it becomes necessary."

"It's not a service I'm currently in need of, Master Ragnok, but it may be a good idea to look into it for the future. One never knows when it could be very helpful." Morgan was thinking forward to her own time, where cash was getting to be a bit outdated, the Muggle world over-run by credit and debit cards – the internet and shopping online becoming quite prevalent.

"I shall make it a priority, Madam. Gringotts and I thank you for the suggestion." The wheels were turning in his head.

"You are most welcome, Master Ragnok, and thank you for taking the idea into consideration. Have a wonderful day!" She offered her hand for another handshake.

He accepted the courtesy, bowing deeply, and lightly kissing the back of her hand before releasing it and standing back upright. "Of course, Madam Stewart. You have a very pleasant day as well." He strode across the lobby toward his office, thinking all the while on how he could implement the system she had suggested.

Morgan drew herself upright, smiling broadly at the goblin clerks who remained close enough to see it. "Good day, Gentlemen." Leaving a group of astonished goblins behind her, Morgan breezed out of the bank and into Diagon Alley.

=======================HG/MM=======================

The mid-November wind gusted underneath her cloak as she stepped out of the bank, causing a shiver to ratchet its way up her spine. Shivering, she pulled the cowl over her head and cast a quick warming charm on her cloak. Soaking up the warmth of her charms, she spotted a little café and headed that way. She sat at the counter and had a cup of hot tea and a fresh, warm scone, satisfying the earlier demands of her stomach. It wasn't quite as satisfying as Minerva's normal offering of porridge and bacon, but it was hot and tasty.

After her meal, she reapplied her warming charms before easing out of the busy café. She stood out of the way of the foot traffic, trying to decide where all she needed to go before leaving Diagon Alley for the Muggle shops. Off to her right, back toward Gringotts, she saw a stylish witch glide out of Madam Malkin's, and the fetching robes the woman was wearing made her think about the coming weekend where she would be meeting Minerva's parents. She knew the clothes she'd brought were good enough for whatever casual outings she and Minerva might have, but she wanted to make a good impression on the people who would be, for all intents and purposes, her in-laws, and for that, actual robes of the times would be needed. Her mind made up, she strode over and entered the popular clothing shop.

An hour later, she left with two new robes of exquisite cut and fit, both one-piece dresses, along with an ankle-length cloak that was lined with fur. The cloak she had was still in very good condition, but she knew Minerva's home was far in the Northern reaches of Scotland, where the winter chill would be far worse than it was in London, and she wanted to be prepared. She had also purchased some fur-lined gloves to protect her hands, and she pulled those on immediately.

Once again applying the warming charm on her cloak and raising the cowl to cover her head and ears, she slowly wandered around Diagon Alley, immersing herself in the atmosphere of the forties. Her sharp eyes took notes on hairstyles and the clothing worn by the witches she passed, mentally making adjustments to some of the pieces she'd brought with her, although the majority of the Wizarding clothes she had were timeless classic designs that would be as useful in the early twenty-first century as they were in the middle of the twentieth.

Not seeing any other shops she needed to visit, she made her way down to the Leaky Cauldron and prepared herself for being out with the Muggles. She asked the barkeep if there was a room she could use to change into Muggle-friendly clothing, and he sent her along to a small water-closet which contained a large mirror on the back of the door. Locking the door behind her, she took stock of her appearance.

The cloak itself wouldn't be too out of place, although she removed the cowl, thinking it might look a bit suspicious. She removed her cloak and changed her conservative robes into a button-up blouse with long sleeves, and a thick mid-calf length skirt. She was happy she'd worn her silk stockings with the seam line up the back. The shoes would be fine unchanged, she decided, and her hair was perfectly acceptable, although with the loss of the cowl, she determined that one of her first stops would be at a millinery to find something to help protect her head and ears from the wind. She went ahead and took advantage of the clean toilet, not knowing what kind of facilities would be available during her shopping. Once finished and washed up, she swung the cloak back around her shoulders and fastened it.

Stepping back out into the main room, she thanked the barkeep for the use of the room and stepped out the front door. Subtly refreshing her warming charms, she hailed a passing taxi and asked the driver to take her somewhere she could buy fashionable clothes. "Right you are, Miss." A few minutes later, he pulled up to a busy neighborhood filled with pedestrians dressed very nicely. Counting out the fare, she added in a tip that was half again what the ride cost and handed it over with a smile, thanking him.

Her first stop was, indeed, a millinery, where she purchased a hat that, if not exactly a bastion of warmth, was quite fashionable – or so the saleslady assured her – and if her ears got too cold, she could always put a low-grade warming charm on it.

She wandered the area just as she had in Diagon Alley, observing the trends in fashion, and purchasing a few pieces that she could mix and match to make several different outfits. Remembering a past conversation with future-Minerva about her Muggle father and the strain of hiding magic in their home, Morgan ducked into yet another shop to purchase a few more formal dresses. She left with three beautiful dresses of good quality and excellent fashion for the day.

Finding a secluded alley, she stowed all her packages, boxes and bags, into her ever-present beaded bag, unburdening herself handily. Her next stop was a jewelry store to pick up a wrist-watch. She knew much of her time in the past would be spent around Muggles, if she continued to visit in times where Minerva had her apprentice studies or, later on, work, and it simply wasn't always possible to cast a _Tempus_ spell to keep track of her time. She chose a lovely but inexpensive one with a thin leather strap and a small face, and wore it out of the store, stashing the box in her cloak pocket.

Realizing it was after one, she found a nearby restaurant and sat down for a light lunch, taking the time to think about what she wanted to prepare for their dinner later. As she paid the bill, she asked the waiter if there were any good bookstores close by, and he directed her to one only two or three blocks away. She thanked him and gave him a generous tip for his excellent service and for the bookshop advice.

The suggested bookstore offered exactly what she needed: a manual on popular dishes of the time and how to prepare them. With that final prize in hand, she found another dark, secluded alleyway and apparated back to Minerva's flat. She carefully put away all of her clothing purchases and flipped through the cookbook, deciding to make some kind of stew for dinner, based on what was available in the markets she had visited on Friday when she'd gotten the ingredients for the Shepherd's Pie.

She took the mundane way out, a sturdy basket in hand, making sure to lock the door behind her with a subtle _Colloportus_. She made her rounds of the shops, picking up all the things on her 'staples' list as well as the things she would need for the stew. There was some lovely beef at the butcher's, and potatoes and carrots at the greengrocer's. Her final stop was at the bakery to pick up a fresh baguette loaf from which they could eat for a couple of days.

Back in the flat, she put the groceries away and stoked up the fire, ensuring the flat would be well-heated and comfortable by the time Minerva got home. She changed into comfortable casual clothing and began the process of making the beef stew, knowing it would do better if it cooked slowly at a low temperature.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Minerva apparated into the living room and was assaulted by the tantalizing smells wafting from the kitchen. She was tired from a long day's studies, but was looking forward to a night with her witch. "Morgan?"

The familiar red head popped out of her bedroom door, a bright smile lighting up her face. "You're home!" Before she could brace herself against it, Morgan barreled through the door and wrapped her arms tightly around Minerva, lifting her off her feet and swinging her around a couple of times before setting her down and replacing one assault with another, this time from her lips. It was a long, but chaste, kiss, ending after a moment with both women smiling helplessly at being together again.

"Can I expect a greeting like that one every day?"

"Every day that I'm here, you definitely can."

"I may have to leave more often then, if I'm to be met like that."

"No, you're not allowed to leave anymore. I missed you too much." Morgan nuzzled against Minerva's neck, placing tender kisses wherever her lips landed.

"Mm, but I returned to you, what smells like a heavenly dinner – which I didn't have to cook – and most importantly, you. What's my incentive to stay?"

"Me."

"Ah, but you're the incentive for returning. You can't also be the incentive to stay."

"Are you sure about that, Min?"

Minerva chuckled, not sure of anything. "Not at all." She pressed a kiss to Morgan's temple. "What _is_ that delightful smell, anyway?"

Morgan pulled her head back, smiling broadly. "Beef stew."

"I knew you were a devil-woman."

Their playful banter continued as they ate the thick, flavorful stew with warm slices of the fresh bread, washed down with a nice red wine Morgan had picked up. After the stew was gone, they each had another half glass of the wine, sipping at it slowly as they talked and the dishes washed themselves. The conversation went on late into the night, until neither Morgan nor Minerva could keep their hands to themselves, and they left a trail of clothes from the dining table to Minerva's bed, collapsing into it. Words were, at that point, completely useless.

After they were both spent, Minerva curled into Morgan's side, as usual, pulled the covers up and over them, and they slept.

=======================HG/MM=======================

The rest of the week passed in a similar manner to Monday. Minerva would wake first, and reluctantly leave a sleepy and pouting Morgan in her bed while she went off to her studies. Morgan would lie there until the bed began to grow cold before rising and taking her own shower, spending the day either browsing around Diagon Alley or in various trendy Muggle neighborhoods of London, always returning to the little local shops to pick up fresh ingredients for their supper in the afternoons. While the food cooked, she would clean and straighten the flat, making sure that there were clean sheets on the beds each night.

Minerva would return in the evenings and they would partake of the prepared meal before sitting down, usually cuddling on the sofa, but sometimes remaining at the dinner table as they had on Monday, and they would talk. The subjects they discussed varied from night to night, but were always intellectually stimulating. Thursday night, Minerva spoke about her family at Morgan's request, regaling her with stories of the antics she and her brothers had gotten up to as they'd grown up.

Morgan learned that Robert, Minerva's father, was staid and serious, and frequently gave sermons of the "fire and brimstone" type, but that he tended to soften when gazing at the demure face of his eldest child and only daughter. He had slightly less tolerance for the behavior of his sons, but as they all grew older, he found it easier to show affection for them, doubtlessly plagued by the thoughts that they would all be gone soon.

Isobel, on the other hand, was lively and vivacious, but tended to tamp down that part of her personality in order to portray the sober parson's wife to his Muggle parishioners. She was very frugal in the running of her household, stretching every farthing as far as possible. She grew her own vegetables according to the seasons, and tended to the livestock, and lived a very severe life, caring for her family without the use of magic, her wand locked away in a box under her bed.

Morgan wanted to bring small gifts to Robert, Isobel, and Malcolm as well as what she had contributed to Rob's present from the family, but Minerva dissuaded her from the notion, saying that her family would think she was making a statement on their financial state if she brought anything at all. Morgan didn't like the idea of showing up empty-handed, and asked if a couple bottles of wine would be acceptable to bring. Minerva thought that would probably be fine, and showed her gratitude for the touching gesture by taking her to bed and ravishing her body. All night long.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Friday morning, they both slept in, enjoying the novel sensation of being able to sate their morning desires for each other without worrying about Minerva leaving. When they finally left the bed, it was to head for a shared shower, from which they emerged vaguely clean, and saved from the frigid temperature of the water only by a well-practiced heating charm placed on the tap.

Morgan persuaded Minerva to leave the bulk of her hair down, only pulling back the top and sides in the thin braid she'd worn when Morgan had arrived and they'd had their brief nap. Her own red and blonde locks were secured in the same loose bun she wore every day.

"Should I wear robes or a dress, Min? If your mum and dad keep a predominately magic-free house, I should opt for the dresses, yeah?" She held out the pretty dresses she'd bought on Monday, then held up the robes from Madam Malkin's.

"Oh, yes. I forgot to tell you. Muggle clothing at the house in case anyone comes by. The fancy dresses will be perfect for dinner, but more casual skirts will do for during the day. Expect Mum to press you into service during the day, so don't take anything for daytime wear that you mind getting dirty." Minerva laughed, but was inwardly worried that they would slip up or that someone would suss things out.

A hand reached itself out to caress her cheek. "Hey." Her eyes raised to catch the warm brown gaze aimed her way, seeing a mischievous glint flash across them. "Dinna ye worry, aye? I love ye, no matter what happens this weekend, and if they guess, weel, we'll only cross that bridge if we must, ye ken?" She was touched by the words, but found herself dissolving in fits of laughter at the attempt to recreate her affected Scottish speech patterns.

"No, no, please don't do that in front of Mum and Dad. They'll think we've both gone spare."

"At least I got you to smile, hmm?"

"Aye, that you did. Thank you, Morgan." She took a step forward and pressed her forehead against Morgan's. "I love you."

"Love you, too. Now come on, dearie, we have to pack." She lightly swatted at Minerva's backside as she stepped away.

They finished packing and Morgan stashed both of their suitcases in her little bag, tucking it into the inner pocket of her new cloak. They had wrapped Rob's writing case securely in her smaller cloak to ensure no scratches or damage would occur inside the bag, but to be sure, she was being extra careful with everything she put in there, and with how she treated the bag itself.

Making sure the fire was completely cold and that everything was off, Minerva wrapped her arms around Morgan's waist, feeling as she was encircled by Morgan's warmth as well. "Are you ready?"

"Yep." Morgan loudly popped the P sound at the end of the word, pressing a final gentle kiss to Minerva's throat. "Let's go, my darling."

Minerva inhaled deeply. "I … the next couple of days are going to be so hard, having you there within reach, but not being able to touch you. I just need another minute before we leave." She felt Morgan's arms tighten around her in response.

"Just remember, when the weekend is over, you have me for another week before I have to go back to work. That's another whole week of filling our nights together the way we want to, and not beneath your parents' roof. We can make it, my darling, I promise." Another kiss was pressed to the hollow of Minerva's throat. "But for now, take all the time you need. I told you last week … I'm never going to let you go. Never."

A smile quirked up on one side of Minerva's thin lips. "Devil-woman. Oh how I love you."

Then with a loud crack, the two witches disappeared.

=======================HG/MM=======================

Seconds later, another loud crack split the night far to the north. Minerva and Morgan arrived in the designated Apparition shed behind the manse, pulling apart reluctantly. "There's still time to turn back if you don't want to go through with this, Morgan."

"No, I'm here and even if they don't know the depths of what I feel for you, thinking me only a friend, I still want to meet them. You… you may never get to meet mine, but I would very much like the honor of knowing your parents, even if I must lie to them in order to gain the privilege."

"Ahh," Minerva groaned lightly. "_A rúnsearc_. I never know quite what to call you. You are both things at once, my devil-woman. Now, give me one last kiss and we'll go face the music."

Their lips met in a hungrily searing kiss, knowing it was the last one they were likely to get until they returned to London on Sunday. Their tongues tangled together greedily for several minutes, both women feeling the desire beginning to pool in that special pit just below their bellies. Morgan pulled back first, their chests heaving together as they fought to feed oxygen to their brains, having begun to see spots at the edge of her impaired vision. "Gods, I love you."

"And I love you, _a diabhal._" She nuzzled their noses together. "Let's go."

Pulling apart for the last time, they stepped out of the shed and into the back garden, sitting at the crown of a tall hill overlooking the small village of Sarclet. The November wind was stinging at them, even through the heavy cloaks they wore. Behind them was the vegetable garden, and beyond that the barn for livestock. To the left, there was a twinkling glow coming from the village, some houses lit with the brighter glow of electric lights and some aglow with the burnished yellows and oranges of firelight. Out past the village, Morgan could see a dark expanse that she first thought to just be uninhabited farm land, but then the sound of waves breaking reached her ears, and she realized that the distant darkness was actually the North Sea. And to the right was the understated grandeur of Sarclet Hall, the small manse given to the village's rector. It, also, was lit with a mixture of electric and fire lights, making the whole scene look very picturesque.

"It's beautiful, Min. Breathtaking, even in the darkness of a winter's night."

"Aye, I agree, but then again, I'm a wee bit biased. This is where I grew up."

Morgan's mind ran briefly to the posh London neighborhood where she'd grown up, and thought to herself that she would have much preferred to grow up here, among the waves and the heather, whose scent was drifting along in the night air along with the salty twang of the sea breeze. "You may be biased, but it is wonderful." A shiver wrought its way up her spine, rattling her teeth together for a second. "Cold, but charming."

"It is cold. Let's go inside before you freeze to death." They trudged across the yard to the kitchen door at the back of the house, warmth spilling out with the light as Minerva opened it and let them in.

"Mum? We're here!"

=======================HG/MM=======================

_A rúnsearc, táim i ngrá leat_. - Gaelic. "My secret love, I am in love with you." (ah ROOeen-shark, TAW-im inHRAW lyat.) _A rúnsearc_ literally means "My secret love" but can also be used to mean "My beloved" or "My soulmate", though the idea of a soulmate isn't the same in the UK as it is here in America (from what I gather in my googles). _A rúnsearc_ is, however, a deeply passionate endearment reserved for lovers, and both the literal and figurative meanings fit at this point in the story, which is why I've chosen it. I get all these from googling for what I want, and I'm fairly certain I have everything correct, but if I don't, I deeply apologize. I've never had a deft hand for languages, although I love to listen to people speak them. Often, things just sound prettier when said in something other than English, even when the meaning behind the words is something really ugly, lol. I guess this is part of why they say ignorance is bliss.

Concerning the Tartan, Caithness County historically belongs to the Clan Sinclair, and theirs is the one I've used for the throw/blanket. An image has been added to the Resources page if you would like to see what the plaid looks like.

_A diabhal_ – Gaelic. "My devil." Minerva's been calling her "devil woman" in English; I thought it was fair play to have her call Morgan the same in Gaelic. (Oh, and don't worry. Minerva gets her own pet name later on. I promise!)

Also, I've never been to Scotland, much less Sarclet. I have no idea if there's a tall hill. I'm taking many creative liberties in writing this story, and I hope you can just roll with it with me.

One last note: As of this update, I am over 100,000 words. I don't know how many more words this story will squeeze out of me, but I'm both shocked and amazed that I've made it this far. First review for this chapter will therefore get a prize - you must have an account to be eligible.


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